


Residue

by MayLaNee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amputation, Atmospheric, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Training, Aurors, Body Horror, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Disability, Disability Representation, Disabled Character, Disabled Draco Malfoy, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lucius Malfoy Dies, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Manipulation, POV Harry Potter, Physical Disability, Piano, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sad, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayLaNee/pseuds/MayLaNee
Summary: Daily Prophet Headline: 'You-Know-Who Purges Post-Mortem - only Malfoy boy remains'Because Draco is a war criminal, he requires monitoring.Things are pretty grim so he's not doing so great, and Harry makes it his problem.Post-war multichapter drarry slow-burn involving OCs, will contain chapter-specific warnings when they apply. Aurors are involved, as is a lot of semi-cohesive magical mumbo-jumbo.Former working title 'Dark Mark Sepsis'.Will upload twice monthly until backlog shrinks.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 60
Kudos: 77





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY! My first Drarry!  
> I wrote the drabble ‘IRONY STRIKES’ in 2010 and a few months ago, the idea started to gnaw at me again.  
> Deciding the pairing took no time at all - I’d never seriously tried before and I couldn’t think of a reason not to. It just made most sense with the premise (and I will ship anything).  
> This story will be multichapter but I’m not a planner; the characters have ideas of their own and we'll see where they'll take me.  
> I don’t have a specific uploading schedule but I have a few chapters ready to go. I’ll try to be regular (monthly?).  
> Also, in case you’re interested: I accidentally emanated ‘Welcome to Death Manor’, a oneshot, when I tried to write the chapter following the one you are currently reading. It stands alone, is tonally very different, and contains no drarry.
> 
> Now some gratitude:  
> I thank Klybneeka for her support and encouragement throughout this project, and I thank Blanxious13 for betaing for me.
> 
> Let’s get started...

There are things one expects once a war ends.

Probably.

Draco hadn’t expected it to end at all, actually. He had _wanted_ it to end, of course he had, but… the mere thought had seemed preposterous. 

It took some getting used to.

Because of his Mother’s act of bravery, they had not been treated like scum quite in the way most Death Eaters had been. 

His parents had consulted their solicitors, and they had had many talks. 

Some of those had been emotional. 

That had been new. And hard. 

But not as hard as trying to determine how to approach what angle to play for his trial. 

Draco had been underage when he had received the Mark, so he was to be tried as a minor.   
This had been relatively easy to accomplish.

Yet even though he had not killed, he had willingly taken the Mark, and was at _least_ complicit in a scroll of crimes as long as himself.  
All aspects had to be considered.

His Father had been even less innocent, of course. He had actively participated in the first Wizarding War and though his acquittal could not be overturned, the suspicion against him was heavy. His part in the second Wizarding War was indisputable, not to mention that public opinion was strongly against him. 

” _They always love to watch the upper class burn._ ”

He had been identified by far too many orphans who owed their status to him. 

The case against him was still being built, so he was to be tried later. Since acquittal was not going to happen anyway, they, as a family, had made a decision. 

They were going to have his Father go on record claiming that he had knowingly and willingly groomed Draco to become a Death Eater since infancy. 

It would sway public opinion in Draco’s favour, certainly, but… his Father’s chances of appeal would be obliterated. 

The idea had come from his Father.

“ _Don’t give me that look - I will be going anyway, I might as well make it worth my time._ ”

He would spend the rest of his days in Azkaban.

  
His Father’s ‘confession’ and the thereby created extenuating circumstances, plus Hero Potter’s testimony in his favour, had swayed the Wizengamot. 

Draco was a free man.

He would be monitored for a few years, but he would not have to serve any time. 

Even though he would not be punished, there were consequences. Of course. These had not necessarily been expected, but they had not surprised him as much as his freedom had.   
  
He had not finished his N.E.W.Ts and he was not permitted back on Hogwarts grounds until he had come through the monitoring unscathed. This seemed a fair precaution. Reparation payments had absolutely drained their vaults, so they were penniless. His Mother, usually a beacon of decorum, only held her head up in an attempt to maintain her composure these days, and his Father had been sent to Azkaban to await his own trial.

  
Life had looked rather bleak.

  
And then things had turned bad.

  
Draco remembered exactly where he had been when it began.   
He had been in his refuge, in the bathtub, covered in layers and layers of thick white foam as if he was part of the saddest dessert in the world.   
He had been staring at the ceiling, as he was wont to do, when he suddenly realised he had been scratching the Mark.   
  
It had felt a bit odd during the trial and all ——- he had been very _aware_ of its presence ever since the Dark Lo— _Voldemort_ had been vanquished, but he had chalked that up to psychology and such.   
  
Though…. now he came to think of it… How often had he absent-mindedly scratched at it lately? 

Apparently it had only now reached the point where it was impossible to ignore… and he _had_ tried to. 

When was the last time he had looked at it?

He had raised his left arm from the suds, calmly dreading what he might find. 

The skull and the snake hadn’t been as black as he remembered — the shapes themselves had a brownish tint, but their outline burned a fiery red.  
As the snake smoothly moved under his skin, it’d trailed a whiteness that went beyond his naturally pale complexion.

His hand had looked rather blotchy, his fingertips a bit dark, and there was a dangerously red line crawling from the Mark itself up his arm, exactly where he knew one of his veins to be.

He had left the bath as if in a trance, he remembered _that_. From then on, things had been a bit blurry. He had been in his bathrobe when he had seen his Mother’s eyes widen — his forearm had swollen by then, and the itch had become _pain_.  
And then ...

  
… the Healer had been very grave. 

  
‘Grave’ had been the only word on his mind for a while. 

Because of his youth, because of his health, and because he had had the Mark relatively briefly, he had survived.

As he had been in St. Mungo’s, unconsciously fighting for his life for weeks, it had taken a long time before he had learnt that his Father had _not_. 

Draco did not appreciate finding himself this out of balance.

  
Yes, it took some getting used to. 

  
Especially since most of his hobbies required two hands.

  
At least the Mark was gone.


	2. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Contains three consecutive sentences with explicit descriptions of unalive people, the first of these begins immediately after the word ‘Aberdeen’. These are indicated with a bold exclamation mark at the start of the sentence. Blanket content warning for offensive language.**

‘…- _disappointed in the ‘Armies of the Netherworld’. The methods to reanimate corpses remained inexact until_ \- ‘

“Hey Quiesko! Didn’t you have babysitting duty?” Carter said loudly, which was his default setting. Though he knew how to shut up, he didn’t know how to be casually easy on the ears. 

None of the Americans had been easy on the ears when they had first arrived. 

There had been too few British Aurors to keep the department running, as many of those who had survived the war had been too ‘affected’ to be fully employable.   
At the time it had seemed as if the world had wanted Harry to be ‘too affected’, too. 

MACUSA had been so generous as to send 30 men. 

_After_ the war.

The blood hadn’t fucking dried when the first of them had arrived. 

All this time spent being the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the only one they could count on and other such bollocks... And then this lot showed up and he was dismissed? 

  
He’d had to really put his foot down, wave his Order of Merlin about, insist he was _FINE_ to literally every person in both his private and professional life…   
and it had worked.   
Robards had initially tried to give him tasks that weren’t too intense, tried to minimise his hours…. But now they were about seven months on, things had normalised a little.  
  
Now he was Junior Auror Potter, Normal Boy Who Learned, sitting in the break room of the Auror department, accompanied by two of the MACUSA lot. 

He knew these guys, they were all right. They couldn’t help when they’d been deployed.

Carter was a lanky burly guy in his thirties, with muscles that looked like boulders strung on elastic. That he spoke with gestures as much as with his mouth really added to the noise he made, somehow, and the Southern drawl didn't help either.  
Quiesko was a much calmer type, late twenties, dark hair, brown eyes, about as tall as Harry, but firmer in build. He was far more contained in his demeanour and sounded more 'generic' American.

Even though Harry found Carter more sympathetic, that didn’t mean he appreciated the amount of noise he made.

There was the sound of footsteps, of ceramics, of liquid pouring, footsteps again, cloth, a grunt of affirmation, more ceramics, more liquid pouring…

So they both got coffee. 

That meant they were going to be here for a while.

Harry sighed and tried to get through the page before they’d interrupt him again:

‘- _method to reanimate corpses remained inexact until the year 807, when the spell to create Inferi took its current form. The_ \- ’

  
“Yeah I do. Gotta get over there again in an hour or so? D’Errico is there now, ‘monitoring’ him.” Though Quiesko was not as much of a trumpet, his response had been easy to overhear.   
This was partly due to the radio playing something instrumental and easy to dismiss, though a bigger factor might be that Harry found it hard not to listen.

He was sitting in one of the eight booths, going through his _History of the Dark Arts_ reader. He’d had the course just before and had chosen to absorb the knowledge as quickly as he could. 

That’s what lunch breaks were for, right? 

He’d never understood Hermione as well as he did now.

‘ _The Inferi created thence_ -’

‘Thence’. He sniffed in amusement - who wrote this stuff?

‘- _have no will or mind of their own, possess incredible physical strength, have no regard for their own wellbeing and are immune to bodily damage_ -’

Unfortunately, this was not Harry’s personal lunchroom (it almost had been, but Harry had been able to talk them out of it), so he was distracted by two sets of footsteps leading to a booth nearby, the faint smell of coffee wafting over as they passed. 

Carter scoffed. “So you just get to sit there and watch him skip around Death Manor?”

Oh yeah, Quiesko had been assigned to make sure Malfoy wasn’t doing Dark Shit.

Harry couldn’t help that he was positioned so that nobody could see him unless they specifically checked… This _was_ the Auror department, after all. More specifically, that he could overhear this conversation without any effort whatsoever was a lack of _Stealth and Tracking_ on their part and thanks to some _Battle Instincts_ on his. _He_ knew this since he was still taking those courses… _They_ really ought to know better.

  
_c o n s t a n t v i g i l a n c e_

  
“Mostly, yeah. That place is terrible, sucks the life right out of you… ” Quiesko had started casually but sounded a little uncomfortable as he trailed off.   
After a moment of silence his tone changed: “Took him to Diagon Alley the other day,” There was a grin in his voice now - apparently this was a funny story.

Carter must have perked up, because he was again speaking far too loudly. “He went shopping?” — a slurp of coffee — “Didn’t they ‘seize their assets’?”

An affirmative grunt. “Yeah, but this was _important_ , ….” Dramatic pause. “He had to get something tailored.”

They both snorted. 

Harry grinned a bit, too — typical of _Malfoy_ to consider ‘tailoring’ important enough to risk public ridicule for.

Quiesko continued. “He’s got this stump right? Went to get his sleeves closed up, all like tidy and shit.” 

The grin melted off Harry’s face. 

Everyone knew about the Dark Marks simultaneously disintegrating and poisoning all those who carried them.   
Azkaban staff had not believed the prisoners until it was too late.

Malfoy had been the first to be trialled and his verdict had been a few days before ‘the Purge’, as The Daily Prophet had dubbed it.   
He had been the only known Death Eater outside of Azkaban at the time, which meant he’d been the only one able to get help.

The only one to survive.

Harry’d read that he had been in St. Mungo’s for about two months, but the paper had been better about hiding medical details than he’d thought to give them credit for. 

A stump… Fuck. 

The two other Aurors snickered. 

“Right!?” Quiesko went on, still chuckling. Then, in the tone of a punchline, “Gotta look respectable!” 

They laughed. 

Carter got himself together first. “Yeah. ...” he trailed off. Then, more seriously: “So you didn’t have any trouble there?”

Quiesko scoffed. “Nah man, crowd behaved, it’s easy when you show that you _know_ he’s trash. People gotta know that they don’t have to tell you, that’s the key.” There was some sass in there.   
Some fucking pride.   
“…….. Madam Malkins might have jabbed him with a needle though. . . ” He added, in an amused would-be casual tone.

“Fuck, man,” Carter laughed. “Stabbing an amputee in the stump, that’s…. gross.”

Yeah.   
Yeah, it fucking was.

Harry felt sick to his stomach. 

“Yeah, well.” Quiesko said dismissively. He didn’t sound as amused anymore, but he wasn’t quite serious either. “He should have thought about that before he became a death eater.”

“Fair enough…” Carter trailed off, followed by the sound of a mug being placed on the table.   
Then, after a moment: “Didn’t his dad raise him into it though?”

“Are you for real?” Quiesko sounded tired, and there was the sound of another mug being put down. “I’m sure his dad’s dad did shit to make _him_ one too and whoops - suddenly they’re all innocent because we didn’t get there on time fifty generations ago.” A pause, then, almost wistfully; “Where’s the accountability, man?” 

Grunt-like noise from Carter. 

A sigh, then Quiesko continued. “He’s raised to be one, okay, sucks to be him, but - and here’s the kicker; he _participated_.” There was tired exasperation in his tone. “He _is_ one, don’t give me that bullshit, man.” 

There was another sigh, Harry wasn’t sure whose. 

“Yeah I guess…“ Carter conceded, tone of polite agreement. 

“You’re not sure!?” Quiesko’s sudden outburst startled Harry.   
“He got _them_ —- he got _Greyback_ into _Hogwarts_. A school full of kids! And now this creepy li’l faggot is moping around his cursed manor with his acres of land and getting tailoring done, because he’s ‘inconvenienced’ by being a fucking war criminal!“ He spat, then put on a mocking tone: “’ _I can’t play anymore, not properly_ ’, or, or,” - he continued in a fake whimper - “‘ _say Zachary, did you see that shadow move_?’”   
He scoffed, then did a final impression, almost as an afterthought: “‘ _Ooh, my balance!_ ’”

Yeah, Malfoy might _technically_ be a war criminal… But only in the same way that Harry was _technically_ the saviour of the wizarding world.   
That shit just didn’t seem real. 

Malfoy was just some posh dickhead, nothing more.

If he’d really said those things, if _that_ was what life was like for him now… that was horrible.

Quiesko scoffed again and continued: “Fucking ridiculous — What did he think would happen when he took the mark? That he’d get a little crown? That he’d get to just _walk away_!? For God’s sake — Did you know that that Death Whore — his mom, right; she gets handouts from the Ministry? _Hundreds_ of galleons a month--— and for what? Because ‘it wasn’t her fault’! _Bullshit_! She was in the _middle_ of it, and she let it happen!”   
The sound of cloth - someone briskly adjusting their posture. “Disgusting fucking people.” 

Carter snorted. “Fuck, man, tell me how you really feel!”

The responding noise was somewhere in between a huff and a scoff. 

After a moment Carter spoke again. “You know there’s a lot of paperwork if you kill him, right?”

Harry was glad Carter’d called Quiesko out, even though it was through a joke. 

It wasn’t until then that he’d realised that his hand had trembled so much that he’d torn the page he’d been reading.

“Yeah, nah…“ Quiesko said dismissively, taking a sip. “I think he’ll do that himself before the end of the year.”

* * *

  
Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Department, smelled vaguely of sweat with a hint of Outside, which was very distinct in this musty room. 

Could moustaches be windswept? 

Yeah. 

Yeah, apparently. 

Robards’ demeanour was authoritative and somewhat rushed — a bit disturbed, perhaps? 

‘Pompous’ was the best word for him though, and he seemed to consciously pause after Harry had phrased his request.

The office smelled stuffy and though it was well lit, it seemed dark. The looming bookcases stacked with parchment probably had something to do with that — the walls seemed to be closing in. There was a pyramid of scrolls on the desk so its writing surface was available, but Harry had seen him calmly move a scroll to a drawer as he’d come in.   
Apparently he didn’t mind Harry knowing he’d been working on it, but he did mind the chance of it being seen. 

Was that interesting? 

Harry made mental note of it, just to be sure. 

Robards took a moment of apparent consideration, which he’d spent staring Harry in the eyes with a look of mild confusion. 

“But you’re Ha—-” 

Harry cut in: “A junior Auror, yeah.”

Robards narrowed one of his eyes as he continued to look into Harry’s.  
“But there’s got to be something more _suitable_ for you?”

Harry tried to remain polite. “You don’t think I can do it, sir?”

“That’s not what I’m saying — eh… You’re currently in the field with Wheeler, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” He was indeed in the field with ‘Tristan’, who was more interested in chatting than in actually showing him the ropes. Sure, he was a good guy and yeah, he was competent, but it felt like hanging out with a mate. That’s not what Harry was here for. If they’d get to split shifts and be tasked with something else than ‘Spot the Death Eater’, he might actually start to feel educated.   
  
“Well then.”   
Robards sounded like it was a done deal and his face got a bit red, but Harry pressed on. 

He had prepared for this.

“Sir: I have to get 2560 hours of on-the-job experience, and I’ve got 882 now.. And all of those have been chasing Death Eaters. Sir. I would like to be well-prepared for _any_ situation.”

The first 517 hours had been with Branagh, and ever since The Purge they had only found bodies. 

A particularly gruesome one had been in a cave near Aberdeen. 

**!** Harry had spotted it first, its lower body underground, its eyes pecked out by seagulls. The Mark on its arm had looked like a burst blister and had spilt a black and yellow mess, with darkened veins like tendrils trailing up its neck into its face. 

**!** What had really stuck with Harry was how the mouth had been opened in a post-mortem scream of pain.  
What had really stuck with Branagh was that this had been his brother, who he thought had been abroad for the duration of the war.

Branagh had been on leave since then.

Tristan had taken over ‘Project Purge’, as he’d called it.

Robards seemed to ease up, seemed to become almost jovial. “But of course -… !”

Harry had almost forgotten what the man was responding to, but then he remembered.   
_Prepared for_ any _situation_ …. …was this another one of those moments where they thought that he could do everything just because he was the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’?

Fuck’s sake — as if defeating Voldemort with all the help and luck he’d had was all that it took to become an Auror. 

Harry cut in again, this time with the nagging feeling that he might be pressing his luck:  
“ _Of course_ I would like to be fully trained by the time I get to call myself an Auror, sir.” 

Robards gave him a stern look, which Harry answered with a fixed stare.  
“But you have defeated- … _death eaters_ before, surely monitoring the last one is hardly a challenge compared to — ” 

  
**!** All he had been doing for the last three months or so was chat find Death Eater bodies in varying states of decay.   
He’d had enough training as a bloody mortician, it was starting to lose some of its appeal. 

Was it really so difficult to understand that he wanted to _actually_ be competent?

He interrupted again, this time more genuinely annoyed.   
“I haven’t had to monitor a high-profile target before, _sir_ , and I understand that his residence is cursed too. It would be a great opportunity to not only do both Proactive and Protective Monitoring, but also Residue Assessment and maybe even Curse Breaking, all in a single mission with relatively low risk.”   
Had he been polite enough?   
“ _Sir_?”

Robards gave him another one-eye-narrowed look, but this time the other one was a bit narrowed, too.

Had Harry blown it?

“Residue Assessment, hn… ” he said, still holding Harry’s gaze, somehow more meaningfully.

Harry nodded. 

“Which you know is residual Dark Magic from…” he nodded encouragingly. 

Voldemort. 

Saying it was _still_ an issue for many people... The end of November was approaching and he’d been gone since 2 May.   
How long did it take to get over a name?

Regardless, that Robards mentioned this as a counterargument must mean that he thought it was significant.   
He’d tried to shield Harry from a lot of stuff at the beginning of his training, minimising his hours, trying to give him ‘easy’ assignments… And now he apparently didn’t want him wandering into Voldemort Leftovers. 

Considerate. 

Maybe he wasn’t as much of a twat, after all. 

  
But… Harry was fine.

  
“I know, sir.” He said, confidently. “Again, I think it would be an excellent opportunity.” 


	3. Dynamic

When Harry got out of the Floo he wondered for a moment whether he had taken an exit too early.   
It looked somewhat familiar here, in this cavernous entrance hall, but it felt… _wrong_. 

It seemed emptier than he remembered and there was instrumental music playing. 

Very fucking unnerving. 

A tall guy in his early forties stood there, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar.

His hair was dark and going grey at the temples, he had a trimmed goatee, he was dressed casually, looked very fit and was the kind of guy that Ginny would drool over.

Harry squared up a bit, dusted himself off and approached him. “D’Errico?”

The guy smiled, did a little upwards nod and uncrossed his arms. “Potter.” 

They shook hands. 

“I’m Johnny.” He seemed a little guarded, but appeared friendly.

“Harry.”

Johnny nodded. “You and Draco know each other, yeah?” His accent was straight from New York, even Harry could recognise that, and hearing Malfoy’s first name said like that was _strange_. 

Also - didn’t everyone know that they knew eachother?

“Yeah,” Harry decided to test the waters a bit. “He was a dick in school and then I was in his trial.”   
Subtly calling Malfoy names might help figure out what d’Errico thought of him, whether he was as bad as Quiesko. Or - _had been_ as bad, since they were unlikely to come back to Malfoy manor from now on.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah.” The tone he used made it sound loaded, but he didn’t elaborate. “And you been here before?”

Harry’d expected _some_ response to his sneaky little application of _Interrogation Tactics_ … He hadn’t expected his bait to go entirely ignored. 

Interesting.

He nodded. “There was less creepy music then, though.” 

Johnny grinned wryly. ”Think of it this way: As long as he’s playing the piano, he’s not playing with his wand.”

Wait, that wasn’t the radio?   
Harry had thought that the ‘playing’ Malfoy apparently couldn’t do properly anymore was Quidditch… He hadn’t even considered that it could be an instrument of some kind.

It was both, wasn’t it? 

Fuck, it was everything.

“Which _means_ ,” Johnny handed him a rectangular wooden box which was inscribed with runes, “Less paperwork for you.”

That was the part Harry was not particularly looking forward to. For the Proactive Monitoring aspect of the job, he was going to have to log every spell Malfoy cast. He wouldn’t put it beyond his ‘charge’ to cast obscure nonverbal bollocks, and then not tell him what it was.

Johnny sniffed. “Also you don’t have to look at him all the time: As long as you hear the music, you know where he’s at and what he’s doin’.”  
  
Harry nodded. 

He knew that there was a tightly wound scroll in the box, the two sticks in its furled ends kept together with a collapsible connection piece. It made a very satisfying click to ‘furl’ or ‘unfurl’, and kept the parchment taut enough to write on. There was an annoyingly tiny quill that could be shoved in and out of the lid, and the whole thing could be carried around in his pocket without getting crumpled. 

His own partner, Tristan, was handing Quiesko the ‘Project Purge’ notes as they spoke. Another dead Death Eater had been found somewhere near York and they couldn’t leave it there for longer than absolutely necessary. Meanwhile Malfoy couldn’t be left alone, and switching jobs had to be done quickly. 

It wasn’t as if they had forces to spare. 

“It’s an Infinite with the usual precautions,” Johnny said. That meant that there were some illegibility charms on it which Harry had learnt at the start of his training. ‘Infinite’ though… that meant whoever would be eventually checking these, would be busy for a very long time.   
  
If there was one side of being an Auror he didn’t necessarily want to be fully competent in, it was administration.

Johnny combed his dark hair back with his hand, then folded his arms again. “So yeah — we gotta protect the world from him and we gotta protect him from the world, but in my opinion there’s not a lotta need. He’s not difficult, doesn’t wanna go out much. Yeah.”  
It was weird to hear Malfoy be described as ‘not difficult’, but Harry discarded that thought as ‘unprofessional’. 

Far more relevant was that there _again_ seemed to be something behind Johnny’s words, but before Harry could ask, Johnny sniffed and then spoke again.  
“So you’re interested in Residue Assessment?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, curious to see the Manifestations. Don’t often get a chance like this.”

Johnny pulled the corners of his mouth down. “True… True…” He nodded a bit. “Cool, you think you’re gonna specialise?”

Harry shrugged. “I gotta try it first. Don’t know yet.”  
“Fair enough,” Johnny sighed. “You rather than me though. Curse Breaking is one thing, this Residue Business is… somethin’ else”

Harry nodded, not sure what to say to that.   
He really did want to be a well-rounded Auror, but the main reason he’d mentioned Residue Assessment was to sway Robards… which he had only wanted to do so Malfoy would no longer be monitored by a cunt like Quiesko.

Who knew, he might end up getting some specialty skills from this situation.

“Me ‘n Zach haven’t really gone into it, but Missus Malfoy has. Or - tried to. She’ll be glad if you help her out.”   
Ah right, ‘Zach’ was ‘Zachary Quiesko’, wasn’t it?   
The idea that the two of them apparently hardly had any trouble with Malfoy who was ‘not difficult’, yet somehow hadn’t bothered with the building they were physically in, didn’t sit right with Harry. 

The shifts for jobs like these were generally twelve hours each - what had they been doing for the past two weeks?

What also bothered him was the idea that Malfoy’s mum had been busy with Residue Assessment. It was Dark, difficult stuff. But then again — this _was_ her home. 

( _And she was familiar with Dark Magic, as she’d been in the middle of it for so long_ … But Harry banished that thought from his mind. It reminded him of Quiesko.)

  
Regardless of anything, this place felt Dark through and through, he’d noticed it the moment he had stepped out the fireplace.   
The house had a pull to it that seemed almost magnetic, it seemed to want to suck his soul. The grand stairs in front of him looked lost and brittle, and Harry had somehow not really registered the pillars supporting the two-storey-high ceiling, even though they were wider than he was. 

There were twelve of them and he’d only really noticed one of them, and that one only because Johnny had been leaning against it.

Well — that was Residue for you.

It really hadn’t been this bad when he’d been here last, though of course Voldemort had still been alive at the time. It wasn’t proper Residue when the source was still present, after all. And besides; Harry’d been a bit occupied with things other than ‘house energy’ back then.

Johnny did another brief sniff, which apparently was an indication of a topic change. “Me, I am more interested in people. Don’t really wanna be taken off this job to be honest with you.” He shrugged, but Harry had caught the accusation in his tone.   
“But since we weren’t doing Residue Assessment,” he made a face as if it didn’t matter “…here we are.”

Oh. 

Harry felt a little guilty, but what Quiesko’d said came to mind again instantly. People like him really shouldn’t be doing any kind of interpersonal missions. Let him gather the dead. At least _they_ wouldn’t feel it if they got stabbed with needles.

Tristan hadn’t really cared about the change… and apparently Johnny here hadn’t been asked.

“So.” Johnny clapped his hands as if to slap the topic away, “Wanna say hello to Draco?”  
Harry was taken off guard by the suddenness of the suggestion. 

Somehow the prospect of meeting Malfoy made him nervous. _Very unprofessional, Junior Auror Potter_.   
He nodded.

“Let’s go through here, to the drawing room…” Johnny said, leading him to a double door on the right.

Of course Malfoy would be in the ‘drawing room’, he couldn’t just be in a living room, could he? Harry chuckled.

“Hey; I’ve been informed that that’s the correct terminology.” Johnny said mock-meaningfully.

“By Malfoy, no doubt.” Harry said with a grin.

“Yeah who else.” Johnny’s tone was impossible to interpret. 

They moved to a double doorway on the right. The doors were slightly ajar and the top panes were stained glass. Whatever was depicted there was moving, but Harry couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be. He tried to look through it, and before his eyes could really focus, he was hit with a sudden dizziness.

Johnny silently pulled the door open further and leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed, looking to the left.   
The music became more clearly audible. 

Harry approached and as he looked in the same direction, he saw a big white piano. Malfoy was playing it, facing the room, and for as far as Harry could see, he looked fine. Or - complete, at least. 

The room had furniture of course, a low fireplace was roaring, but there was nobody else here. Apart from the twelve high windows there were no visible exits other than the doorway the two of them were standing in.

Malfoy’s eyes were mostly closed, he seemed focused and moved to the sides a bit as his right arm moved over the keys. 

Harry wasn’t familiar with pianos, since the one at the Dursleys’ had only ever made a sound when he’d had to dust it.  
He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be able to produce something so nice. 

Then again… playing the things was probably mandatory in posh families.

The music sounded somewhat familiar, even though something about it seemed wrong. 

Due to Residue, probably.

  
Harry took a small step forward and was hit with the feeling of the floor slowly tilting. He paused to adjust his balance.

“Welcome to the drawing room,” Johnny said softly, hardly audible above the music.   
Harry looked back at him. 

“That’s your Residue.” He looked at him meaningfully. “You’ll be busy, don’t you worry.”

Harry took a step back and stayed in the doorway.   
Malfoy ignored them entirely and kept playing as Johnny slowly went over to him, going all the way around the piano.

This was not the most efficient route for him to take, and it meant that he wasn’t obscuring Harry’s view of Malfoy. 

Interesting.

“ _Il mio sostituto è qui_ ,” Johnny said to him, and Harry hoped that none of that had been an insult he didn’t understand.   
The tone seemed friendly enough, though.

Regardless of that, Harry was a bit pissed that he was excluded from this conversation so fucking openly.

Malfoy did a little upwards nod and kept playing until the song was over, half a minute or so later. When the final notes disappeared, he just sat there. 

“ _Come stai_?” Johnny said, and Harry was pretty sure now that it was Italian. 

Didn’t that mean ‘how are you’? 

Malfoy shrugged.  
No attitude, no snapping, no venom.

The floor was dark and shadowy so it had been difficult to distinguish Malfoy’s black shirt from the background, but due to his movement, Harry could see where the sleeve ended.  
It reached half-way Malfoy’s upper arm, which was _technically_ his full upper arm now, wasn’t it? 

Somehow it was both shorter and longer than Harry had imagined.   
To be fair though - he was pretty shit at imagining things.

Johnny sniffed. “I figured I’d leave the tour to you.”

“All right.” Malfoy’s tone was entirely indifferent.

It was curious that ‘Johnny’ had not only felt the need to speak another language, but also that he hadn’t discussed with Harry how he was going to be informed of the details of this place. 

All right then. 

So the two clearly had a rapport.

Just when he felt his temper rise, it dawned on him that Malfoy hadn’t had a say in him coming here, either. 

What if Johnny and him were really close? Harry might have thought that getting Quiesko out was a priority, but what if Malfoy entirely disagreed?

What if he’d had no problem with Quiesko, and had a huge problem with Harry?

Fuck.

Maybe he should have considered _that_ before arranging this with Robards.

Harry stepped forward, into the dizzying room. He wasn’t sure why this was the right time to, it probably _wasn’t_ , but he’d done it now.   
The moment his foot touched the floor across the threshold it was as if he had stepped aboard a ship at high sea.   
Just when he thought he’d found proper footing, the floor felt like it tilted so he had to adjust again. 

This was fucked.

He’d seen Johnny move very slowly, so he tried to do the same.

Malfoy was looking straight into Harry’s eyes, very challenging, no real facial expression. He didn’t say a word and as he glared, Harry felt drunk and kind of stupid, approaching him.

After a moment of silence, Harry said “Hi”.  
Nothing else.

“Good evening,” Malfoy responded with such emphasised enquiring friendliness that it might be followed by ‘how may I help you?’

What a dick. 

“Heh,” said Johnny, leaning his hip against the piano, looking as if he lived here.   
As if the two of them had an unwanted guest. 

Well, they kind of did, didn’t they?

Johnny looked amused. “ _Fai attenzione_ , yeah,” He said to Malfoy. “Can’t trust that one.”

Malfoy presented a quite believable smile… on the side of his face that Johnny could see. The other half remained neutral, and both his lower eyelids raised the slightest bit.

Who controlled their face like that? 

Harry could see the smiling side of Malfoy’s face had some blue veins underneath the skin, reaching just over his jawline before fading into his cheek. Those were definitely remnants of the Mark going wild.   
And now he paid attention, he could see a darker vein snake up from Malfoy’s collar, nearly black where it escaped the cloth and becoming fainter as it reached higher.

“So you’ve come to gloat?” Malfoy asked somehow mockingly, still half-smiling like a lunatic.

Harry hadn’t expected him to be ‘like this’ with another Auror present. 

“No, I’ve come to do my job,” Harry said, trying to sound neutral. The last thing he wanted was to appear unprofessional or unsympathetic… He had already apparently fucked something up and he didn’t want to make it worse.

  
The floor felt like it was tilting again but now Harry knew to expect it, he shifted his centre of balance in sync.

“Those options aren’t mutually exclusive,” Malfoy responded, haughtily and matter-of-factly.

“They are to me,” Harry said curtly, though he tried to put some reassurance in his tone.

Malfoy continued to look at him, both eyes narrowing as the half-smile melted away.

Fuck, he really did look mental.

“Harry’s a good Auror,” said Johnny, much to Harry’s surprise.

“Of _course_ he is,” Malfoy responded slowly, sounding mocking, bitter, denigrating… — sounding a lot like his father, actually. 

Fuck, Harry really had made a mistake coming here, hadn’t he? It had seemed like the most obvious thing to do after what he’d heard Quiesko say, but… fuck.

Johnny looked at Harry, who looked back at him. 

“Are we gonna have a problem?” Johnny asked, looking at both of them in turn.

Malfoy turned his face to Johnny and didn’t make a sound, but Johnny nodded.

“Hey Harry.. Give us a moment?“

“No, sure - ” Harry said, raising his hands as if to show his innocence.   
Instantly the floor felt like it tilted again, faster this time. Harry turned briskly and felt drunk as he left the room, bristling.  
It was probably inappropriate for an Auror to send another Auror out in front of a charge, right?

Fuck’s sake.

He’d hardly gone over the threshold when he stopped to look back.   
Johnny had sat beside Malfoy on the piano bench, a leg on each side, and had made eye contact with Harry for a moment.   
Rather than giving any kind of sign for Harry to piss off further, he focused back on Malfoy, who had his back to the door.

Who couldn’t see Harry there.

Okay, so apparently Johnny wanted him to hear…

“Hey - we talked about this,” Johnny said, sounding concerned.

Malfoy muttered something that included the word ‘ridiculous’.

“And I’m sure Harry has seen some horrible shit, yeah, so he’ll be fine dealing with _you_.”

Malfoy inhaled deeply, then exhaled the words “I hate you”.   
There was no malice in them.

  
Something about their exchange didn’t sit right with Harry, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You’re not gonna be an asshole,” Johnny said.

“Never.”

Johnny snorted. “Good. So can I trust there won’t be tufts of black hair between the piano keys?”

“…I don’t control the house.”   
Malfoy sounded petulant.

“Fair enough. And you know to Floo me, yeah?”

Malfoy nodded.

Their dynamic was very amicable, but that in itself wasn’t what stood out to Harry.

“No trouble,” said Johnny.

“Yes, yes,” Malfoy sounded dismissive, impatient, and turned back to face the piano properly. Harry was pretty sure that he was standing in the periphery of his sight… but Malfoy gave no sign of seeing him.

Curious.

Johnny grabbed Malfoy by the back of the neck for a moment, gave him a friendly little push, then let go.   
“Wanna have another go?” he asked, nodding his head towards the piano.

“No.”   
Malfoy sighed angrily, bolstering somehow. “It’s rude to keep your colleague waiting.”

Suddenly Harry knew what it was that bothered him so much.

  
Malfoy was behaving like _a teenager_.

  
Johnny scoffed. “ _Don’t_ be an asshole.”

Malfoy shook his head, more in annoyance than in response.

“ _Allora, mio figlio_ …” Johnny said as he got up.  
  
Malfoy swallowed hard, but his face didn’t change.

Meanwhile, Harry realised once more that he’d been in his year.

  
That he was the same age.

Why did that make his head go a little fuzzy?

“ _Quindi dovremo dire addio_.” Johnny placed a hand on Malfoy’s left shoulder and squeezed it, held it there. 

Malfoy just looked ahead for a bit, then nodded.  
“ _Grazie per tutti_ … ” he said, voice neutral but a little strained. 

Harry knew that ‘grazie’ meant ‘thanks’. 

Oh fuck, he’d really broken something up, hadn’t he?

They were quiet for a moment. Just… sat there.

After nearly ten seconds Malfoy swallowed, then said. “ _Be', allora… mi mancherai_.” 

Johnny shook Malfoy to and fro a bit by the shoulder. 

Very… bolstering. 

Comforting. 

  
Harry felt nauseous with guilt.

  
After a few seconds Johnny clapped Malfoy on the shoulder blade, then crossed his arms and walked out, past Harry, making a head gesture that meant to follow him. 

They went back towards the Floo Harry’d come in through, escorted by creepy fast piano music.

This was going to be horrible, wasn’t it?

  
…

  
And whose fault was that?

  
_Fuck_.

  
“You get along,” Harry said, oblivious of what else to say.

“Yeah we do,” Johnny said, moving his head to the side, very serious. “And he’s not gonna try anything Dark, like I said.” He gave Harry a very considering look which lasted a few seconds.   
“I know you’re _the good guy_ and that you’re here mostly for Residue Assessment and Curse Breaking, but… _do_ keep an eye on him, yeah?”

That seemed very fucking condescending.

 _No Harry, calm down_...   
This Auror he’d just met, who got on _well_ with _Malfoy_ , who liked _people_ , was about to spend extended periods of time finding fucked up Death Eater bodies.

For fuck’s sake. 

He’d only been trying to help.

Ginny’d been right when she’d said this was a bad idea. She’d thought it for the wrong reasons, but she’d been right enough.  
He really hoped she wasn’t going to gloat when he told her later.

Harry nodded and took a breath.

“When will Wheeler be here?” Johnny asked.

“At about ten in the morning.”  
That was nearly thirteen hours from now. 

Harry felt a bit hopeless.

Johnny must’ve seen his face.  
“They should put more people on Monitoring... It’s just between the two of you so yeah, you don’t _have_ to do fiddy-fiddy. You can just get him back next time.”

It took Harry a moment to realise he’d said ‘50-50’, and Johnny must have misinterpreted his confused facial expression.

“If you need it - if _he_ needs it, you Floo me. Draco’s got the details, I don’t mind jumping in if I can. Alright?”   
He looked at Harry meaningfully. 

Reassuringly.

The gesture was great, it really was, but… this wasn’t right.

Harry was the Auror on duty at the moment, and yeah, okay, he might have fucked up by arranging to have this _particular_ duty, but that didn’t mean he could be left out of the loop with information this useful.

Oh, but he felt like a dick for having to ask…

…he couldn’t _not_ , could he?

“I’d like those details too, please.”

  
Johnny’s posture changed a little, he stood more upright, looked at Harry with a different kind of consideration.

It took a bit too long for comfort.

Oh shit, he was mad, wasn’t he?

  
“Of course Harry Potter can have my details,” he said, tone again impossible to interpret, and he briskly handed him a card.

When Johnny Floo’d out very shortly after, Harry was relieved.

…and then the creepy music stopped.

Fuck. 


	4. Affected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Can’t not-upload on 1 September! :) I’ve been having to restrain myself not to upload more because I don’t want to burn through my backlog… Chapter 14 is currently half finished.**

For a moment, Harry wasn’t sure whether he should go over to Malfoy or whether he should wait for Malfoy to come to him… But then he remembered it was literally _his job_ to monitor him. 

_Proactively_.

He did a little jog back to the drawing room, where his charge stood leaning against the near side of the piano, twirling his wand in his one hand.

He looked very fucking smug.  
“I wondered how long it would take you to get back here,” he said, one corner of his mouth pulled back in a half-grin.

“Rubbing your hands in anticipation, were you?” Harry snapped, but when he saw Malfoy’s scandalised face he realised what he’d just said.

Fuck. 

He really hadn’t meant to.

Malfoy slowly turned his wand to point it at Harry, which was something he really ought to make note of.

His eyes were wide, bright, _livid_ , and the dark vein in his neck seemed to pulse.  
“ _Don’t_.”   
He’d hardly used his voice.  
Then he slowly turned his wand further so it was no longer aimed at Harry, and moved it up his sleeve.

Harry opened his mouth to apologise when the floor suddenly tilted. He took a few steps to adjust his balance and was about to fall back, so he flung himself forwards instead.   
At least this way he could see and control where he’d land.

It was as if something was trying to lay the house on its side, but the chandelier didn’t swing and the furniture didn’t move, either… _items_ were apparently unaffected. 

Harry looked ‘up’, or -… _ahead_ , and saw Malfoy above him, his feet on the ground, his back against the piano.   
He didn’t seem _as_ affected, and he still looked livid. 

Was Malfoy less struck because he lived here?

Or was Harry more affected because he’d been a Horcrux? 

The room was still tilting, though there was a dizziness crawling into Harry’s head too. It seemed to be _intentional_.

Then the kick to the face he’d gotten from Malfoy came to mind, as did the memory he’d seen of Malfoy being taught to torture. 

Malfoy was trembling and if he were to try anything, his position placed him at a definite advantage.

… _and he_ was _a war criminal_ …

Harry got his wand out of his sleeve and held it firmly, more for reassurance than anything. 

Malfoy seemed to somehow become _more_ angry, then briskly turned and left the room.

As he went, Harry could see he’d gone to cross his arms but caught himself.

The suspicion and rage he’d felt towards him mellowed and he turned his attention back to his current situation. 

He wasn’t going to have to crawl to the door, was he? 

Just as he considered how to best get up from this nearly vertical floor, the tilt levelled.   
It went so quickly that Harry became nauseous, and when he’d started to get up, the balance shifted in the opposite direction.

He scrambled to get to the door which was only _just_ out of reach, when he lost his footing and slid towards the piano. He curled up to try to avoid it, but the tilt shifted _again_ and he slid against one of its feet. It hit him in the back with full force and slammed the air right out of him.

The instrument made a droning noise that reverberated through Harry’s bones. 

As he sucked in air through clenched teeth to breathe the pain away, Malfoy marched back in. 

“ _Out_ from there!” He commanded, his furious face suddenly appearing in Harry’s field of view as he bent over. 

“You don’t touch — …” he seemed too flustered to continue. “You _get_ out!”

“I wasn’t having a fucking nap,” Harry managed, still in pain, still nauseous, and not in a rush to move.  
The ‘steepness’ of the floor was making that quite difficult, anyway.

“I don’t care _what_ you do; you _don’t_ . _touch_. _the piano_ !” Malfoy spat.   
He still looked mental… - or no, that wasn’t the right word. 

He looked _creepy_.   
Yeah, that was it.

In the shadows of the room his complexion and hair seemed to be the same colour, there were bags under his eyes, he looked gaunt and the darkened veins on the left side of his face seemed to _move_. 

As if he’d walked straight out of a bloody horror film. 

“Yes, yes, all right,” Harry said impatiently, and then the floor tilted _again_.  
This time he slid away from the foot of the piano and towards the nearest corner of the room.

He’d never been this angry at a fucking floor before.

It seemed almost vertical again, and considering where he’d landed… He managed to place a foot on each wall, so the corner of the room ran like a gutter between his feet.   
He carefully held his hands out towards the floor in case it would tilt again and he’d slam face-first into it.

Technically he could walk up right to the ceiling… But since this bullshit was so unpredictable, he didn’t want to risk falling on top of the precious fucking piano. 

His back _still_ hurt.

Malfoy, again, hardly seemed affected.   
He was leaning forward a little, towards Harry. 

The room apparently wasn’t level for him either, but considering they were leaning towards eachother and that Harry was standing on the fucking _walls_ , it was safe to say that the manifestations differed in more ways than just in intensity. 

Malfoy gave him a look that Harry found hard to interpret.   
Tired?  
“… get your feet off the tapestry,” he said, sounding strained. 

Harry looked at what was ‘down’ to him, and realised his left foot was indeed half on one of the tapestries. It depicted some garden scene or something and the figures were looking at him about as scandalised as Malfoy had before. He had apparently stepped on a white horse’s head.

He moved his foot safely to the stone beside it, and the _unicorn_ struggled to look graceful as it galloped to the far side of the scene.  
“Sorry,” Harry said, but none of the figures responded.

Again the balance shifted but it was more gradual this time, calmer. Harry was able to brace himself for impact with his hands, and swallowed down the sick that had tried to escape. 

Once on the actual floor, it felt once again if he was on a ship at high sea.

Another one of those tilts and he’d probably crash right through a window, followed by a regurgitated trail of Molly’s casserole.

“Give me a hand?” he asked, as he was struck with a wave of vertigo.  
He swallowed his dinner down, _just_ on time.

Malfoy went to cross his arms… and his face sallowed when he caught himself. A blush appeared in his neck as his face turned even paler.

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

Harry tried to stand up as carefully as he could and though the floor remained level, it felt as if he was in an elevator that was going up far too quickly.

This time he swallowed too late. 

It seemed wise to get out of this ridiculous room before he was smashed into the ceiling or something, so he scrambled for the door. The solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet when he’d passed the threshold was so _still_ he could kiss it.  
  
He grabbed the door for support and then turned to look at Malfoy, who slowly looked up from Harry’s sick to meet his gaze.  
Harry considered cleaning it immediately, but it seemed like a bad idea to point a wand so close to his charge.

“Revolting,” Malfoy said tonelessly.

Harry nodded slowly, still nauseous and dizzy. He was definitely going to have a bruise on his back.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him and cast a silent _Scourgify_.

_Of course that couldn’t have waited a few fucking seconds._

“I didn’t know people like you knew cleaning charms,” said Harry, trying to make the situation less awkward. 

Malfoy made a haughty little ‘hm’ noise.

Something else seemed to be called for.

“Look - I didn’t mean to be a dick about your… you know.” Harry waved his hand vaguely at Malfoy’s non-arm. “That’s not why I came here.”

Malfoy had seemed a little uncomfortable at Harry’s gesturing, but then became haughty again. “Oh _right_!” his eyes glittered maniacally, “So how is the _assessment_ going?” He’d used this denigrating tone that reminded Harry so much of his glib bastard father.

…who had died just a few months ago. 

Harry decided to play nice.   
He had to spend another twelve hours here and it’d been horrible enough. 

“Yeah, all clear, haven’t noticed any Residue so far.”

Malfoy didn’t seem to appreciate his attempt at levity and narrowed his eyes.  
“That might be because you were too busy sweeping the floor,” he said sternly.

Was he trying to provoke him?

Harry shrugged.   
It was hard to think when he had to focus on keeping the rest of his dinner down.   
“Yeah, I guess…” He swallowed again.  
“Do you have something against nausea, maybe?” 

Malfoy glared at Harry for a moment and seemed to start an eye roll, but then gazed at the ceiling instead.  
He sighed, glanced at the piano, then marched out the room.

He’d gone right past Harry, who followed him through the cavernous entrance hall.

Walking through here made the Darkness tug at him again.   
Had it not been doing that in the drawing room? Was that why he was now noticing it again? Or had he gotten used to its previous intensity, and had it actually become stronger than a moment ago?

Malfoy led him to a door under the enormous brittle looking stairs.

He wasn’t going to shut him up in the cupboard, was he?

Well, if he was, it may not be so bad... judging from here it looked like it would be about the size of the Dursleys’ living room. 

Much to his surprise Malfoy knocked on the door, using the back of his hand.  
There were a few seconds of silence.  
“Mother?” He asked then, looking to the side.

….why would his Mother be staying underneath the stairs?

Again there was no response.

Malfoy opened the door.

  
…

This was _not_ a cupboard.   
  
It was maybe three metres deep, but very wide. The walls were bare grey stone with little nooks on regular intervals, each holding a single black candle that wasn’t currently lit, though light seemed to emanate from them as if there were windows, as if it was daytime.   
Narrow dark-wooden cabinets stood equidistantly against the walls, some filled with jars and bottles, others with books, mortars and pestles, and other equipment. 

This was a potions room, for lack of a better name for it.

Malfoy looked around haughtily. “This is our brewing room.”

_Fine, ‘brewing room’ then, whatever._

Harry followed Malfoy in and looked around in amazement.   
Apart from classrooms, he’d never been in one of these before. The Weasleys just used their kitchen.

On the wall behind him were shelves full of cauldrons, arranged by size and material. Underneath those hung cutting boards made out of different woods in wildly varying states of use. To the left of the entrance, where the ceiling lowered because of the stairs above them, the floor went down like a ramp.

Harry could see an imposing cabinet with closed doors ahead on the level below, lit by golden light that came from nowhere in particular. To the right of it, the space seemed to continue out of sight. 

The sides of the ramp were lined with hanging bundles of dried potions ingredients.  
One of them was swarmed with what looked like tiny fireflies but other than that, it wasn’t lit. 

Malfoy marched down and Harry followed, suddenly struck by the smells of licorice and garlic.

Though those didn’t help his stomach settle, he was glad that at least the floor wasn’t being funny here.

“Just nauseous?” Malfoy asked apropos of nothing, sounding as if Harry had placed a bloody order for it.

“Yeah.” Harry said.

“No vertigo?” It really sounded as if Malfoy was trying to push a side dish on him, but then again… There _was_ vertigo.

“Well… yeah. That too.”

Malfoy went to the cabinet and opened it one door at a time, though Harry had seen him move his stump as if to open both doors at once. 

To spare him the discomfort of being ‘caught’ he looked to the area that had been out of sight before. 

He was standing in an archway to the left of a square room, which had a counter built along its entire right side. In the middle was a stone slab table that looked carved rather than built, with sections spared out to fit cauldrons of different sizes. On the opposite wall at the right was a doorway that led to pitch-blackness. 

Some cauldrons bubbled and different cutting boards and ingredients were strewn about.

Harry saw dittany, beetle eyes, horklump juice, monkshood, lavender of course, moonstone and unicorn horn. There were more ingredients he did not recognise, and he wasn’t able to figure out from this what was being brewed in which cauldron.  
  
There were different smells here, some more familiar than others, none of them helping with Harry’s nausea.

Why was this left unattended? 

Malfoy closed the cabinet and walked by him, into the room.

“Mother?” he said again, a little louder this time.

“Yes! - darling,” His mother appeared from the blackness ahead, as if it was a liquid curtain she had been hiding behind.   
She wore a black dress with a high neckline which made her seem very strict, uncomfortable and solemn. 

Her eyes were red and she seemed somewhat flustered. 

As if she’d been caught.

“I’m taking the Vertigone,” Malfoy said, raising the bottle he’d taken for her to see. She looked at it without any facial expression, then calmly focused back on him. 

After six seconds of silent staring, she asked “Do you _have_ to?”  
She sounded exhausted.

Malfoy sighed and nodded curtly. 

_Did he have an unhealthy potions habit or something?_

“Darling — ” she started, but Malfoy cut in: “It’s for the Auror.”

Her eyebrows raised a little, though the rest of her expression did not change. 

Harry wasn’t fucking invisible, was he? 

He stepped away from behind Malfoy and came a little closer to her.   
“Hi missus Malfoy,” he said, not sure of what else to say.

“Oh, Harry Potter…” She’d said his name as if it was a single word. Absent-mindedly. 

She seemed a bit out of it.  
  
“Yes, Mother.” Malfoy said flatly. “He’s had a bit of a turn in the drawing room.”

Yeah, that was one way to put it.   
If he’d turned any further he’d have been on the ceiling.

She nodded slowly and her gaze drifted over to the wall beside them, then narrowed her eyes as if trying to read something written there. 

“The balm needs to be stirred,” Malfoy said after a few seconds.

“Oh!” She turned back to one of the cauldrons and lowered the fire, stirring it counterclockwise. As she did she seemed to realise she’d had two other ones on and stirred those, too.   
It was as if she had entirely forgotten that she wasn’t alone.

Malfoy gave Harry a challenging look as he handed him the bottle he’d been holding, as if to _dare_ him to say something about his mother.   
Then he briskly turned and marched back.

_All right then._

Harry peeked around the corner to see the wall Malfoy’s mum had been staring at, but there was nothing there but solid stone.

Quickly he followed Malfoy, past the cabinet and up the dark ramp with the little fireflies.  
There were a lot more of them now.

“This room isn’t as fucked as the other one,” Harry said as he caught up again, making sure to walk on Malfoy’s good side. 

A wry grin appeared on the side of his face that Harry could see.

“… is that your specialist Auror jargon?” 

Oh yeah. Hilarious.   
Harry’d almost forgotten who he was dealing with.  
  
Somewhat exasperated he opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy started speaking again before he could.

“You see - _I_ thought Manifestations of Dark Magical Residue differed per area due to a _variety_ of factors. But of course it takes _special Auror school_ to learn that we’re _really_ dealing with degrees of relative _fucked_ -ness.”   
He’d used his usual bored mocking drawl, which was a bit of a relief to hear, but then he’d again gone to cross his arms in vain.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, feeling as though he was doing the other a favour. 

They were silent for a moment.

“… you really don’t know a lot about Residue, do you?” Malfoy asked tonelessly.   
It didn’t sound like he was trying to be a dick this time.

“Why do you say that?” Harry asked.

Malfoy didn’t answer and together they walked up the ramp, passing the bundles of dried ingredients.

Wait a second…  
When they had been up there before, Harry had been able to see the cabinet from where he stood with no effort whatsoever. Yet now they were going back, he couldn’t see the area they had been in at all.

Not to mention that they had been walking for nearly two minutes.

Going down hadn’t taken twenty seconds.

“Oh.” Harry said, feeling stupid.

  
Just when he wanted to look over his shoulder to check whether he could see the cabinet, Malfoy grabbed him by the back of the head and turned it to face forwards. “Keep walking,” he said, then let go immediately.

Harry promptly stopped and drew his wand.

Malfoy sighed and calmly kept going.  
“It takes 473 seconds if you _don’t_ look,” He said. “Running doesn’t help, nor does going backwards, sideways or crawling. You can try different means if you please. But if you look back… ” He paused dramatically. “… let’s just say you won’t get much else done during your shift.”

He sighed again, and Harry could hear there was a smile in it.   
“…and if you _stop_ , well…” he continued, still walking, and Harry tried to follow his lead.

_Tried_ to.

“- … you might have to wait a minute before you can get going again.” The grin in his voice was obvious.

“Hey!” Harry shouted. “And then what happens?”  
Surely if standing still would get him at the top, Malfoy wouldn’t have walked in the first place.

“Hey!” He tried again.   
His feet absolutely refused service and Malfoy didn’t respond.

  
Was that prat trying to evade Monitoring? 

…technically he’d told Harry exactly what to do to _not_ get stuck, hadn’t he?

He put his wand back up his sleeve and wondered what he could do.   
Casting spells at Residue Manifestations was discouraged, especially if it wasn’t Assessed properly. 

Anything could happen.

  
… 

He was just going to have to wait, wasn’t he?

  
After about a minute or so, when Harry could move again, he heard the door at the top close.

  
Had Malfoy really just locked him under the stairs?


	5. Unspecific

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Contains descriptions of a canonically unalive person becoming unalive. This happens on and near the dining room table. Bold exclamation mark will be included at the start of explicit sentences.**

Harry tried to take a step forward and was relieved to find that he _could_.  
Then he took another… and things got weird again. 

This time, the ‘tunnel’ he was in began to rotate as if he were inside a very long cement mixer.

At least the movement was regular.

  
Thankfully the Malfoys were meticulous - the bundles of dried ingredients were hung equidistantly so he could find a path in between them without having to pay too much attention. 

Once he’d figured out when to step ‘over the crack’ between floor and wall or wall and ceiling again, he decided he might as well spend his time wisely.  
He was still queasy, so he’d read the handwritten label of the ‘Vertigone’.   
It had told him to take a teaspoon of it, wait ten seconds, and to repeat if needed. 

He‘d portioned some in the palm of his hand and took it.

It tasted of bitter ginger and it’d worked after the second dose. 

Then he got the Infinite FieldScroll out of its box and unfurled it with a satisfying ‘click’. 

It was time for his first entry in ‘the Malfoy log’… Even thinking those words felt ridiculous, but here he was, monitoring Malfoy closely. 

_For a living._

If he would have told Ron and Hermione this in sixth year, they would have probably-… No: _actually_ , they wouldn’t have batted a fucking eye, would they?

He took the legibility precautions off the scroll, got the fiddly little quill out of the lid and wrote:

_24.11.1998, 21:00 Junior Auror Potter on duty_   
_24.11.1998, approx. 21:45 - Charge cast Scourgify at floor._

There. 

Not his neatest, but since he had to keep walking, it was going to have to do.

Harry considered whether to mention his ‘charge’ had pointed a wand at him at approximately 21:20, but decided against it.   
He had to be fair — Malfoy’d shown more restraint than most people might have done, considering Harry _had_ been a dick about his arm.

In fourth year he’d nearly been hexed in the back over some throwaway remark… and now he’d _actually_ said something shitty, Malfoy’d thought better of it.  
  
Had becoming a ferret back then taught him how to restrain himself?

Harry remembered the scene fondly as he looked ahead again, to see whether this bloody corridor was going to end at some point.  
There was no sign of it.

Then he dipped the fiddly little quill back into the ink-pad inside the lid.

How could they design something as amazing as the FieldScroll and have such a shitty quill with it?

Just when he had it ready for writing once more, he wondered whether he should mention that Malfoy had _grabbed him by the back of the head_ a few minutes ago. 

Technically Harry’d been manhandled… but he’d _also_ been warned about Manifestations.  
Then again…. Both the wand-pointing and the head-grabbing could have been experiments for Malfoy to see how far he could go.

  
Right.

There was only one way to tell, wasn’t there?

Harry was going to have to go through earlier log entries, get a feel for what was ‘normal’, and decide what to write down based on what he found.

  
He scrolled down to sloppy-looking but clearly legible scrawls.

_24.11.1998, 03:45 d’Errico on duty_   
_24.11.1998, 04:17 charge cast hovering charm_   
_24.11.1998, 19:00 charge cast hovering charm_   
_24.11.1998, 19:00 charge cast cleaning charm_   
_24.11.1998, 19:40 charge cast cleaning charm_   
_24.11.1998, 19:41 charge cast cleaning charm_

  
Harry hadn’t taken shift until 21:00, so that was over 17 hours. 

_Wow_.

All this time, and Malfoy had done nothing but hovering and cleaning?

 _Sure_.

Harry grinned.  
The ‘amicability’ he’d seen between Johnny and Malfoy was showing just a _little_ bit there, wasn’t it?

They could have bloody _duelled_ and Johnny might not have mentioned it. 

…the bias in Malfoy’s favour was fucking shameless, wasn’t it?   
  
The only thing this _really_ told him was that Johnny had meant it when he said to Floo him if needed. 

This made it even more interesting to see how different Quiesko’s log would be. 

_His_ writing was small and tidy looking.  
 _24.11.1998, ±03:45 Charge Floo calls, refuses to disclose intended recipient._

Judging from the time, the ‘intended recipient’ must have been Johnny. 

Surely Malfoy wouldn’t wake someone at stupid o’clock just because he liked them better, would he?

  
…actually, yeah. 

He probably would.

  
Harry scrolled further, wondering whether he would find a particular reason for the call.

  
_24.11.1998, 03:35 Charge defends death eaters._   
_24.11.1998, ±03:37 Charge defends war crimes, uses inflammatory language._   
_24.11.1998, 03:40 Charge proceeds to defend death eaters &war crimes, becomes hostile._

  
Okay… _Someone’s_ had an eventful night.

Malfoy was of course allowed to speak freely. The log was to see whether he was a danger, not to see whether he was likable, so the only noteworthy part was that Malfoy had apparently ‘become hostile’… but that could be anything from ‘sneering’ to ‘casting the Cruciatus curse’.

Would there have been a provocation?   
Maybe Quiesko had logged what had set off this ‘hostility’ he’d so _specifically_ bothered to mention.

_23.11.1998, 22:30 Charge refuses to comply with repeated requests to verbalise spells._

Well, that didn’t explain much. 

… although it _did_ show that Quiesko was apparently a bit petulant when it came to this job.   
Or, considering that he had mentioned that it had even _been_ nonverbal, he might just genuinely enjoy doing administration.

What would the spell have been, anyway? Another hovering charm?  
Harry snorted to himself.

…and then he read the next line.

 _23.11.1998, 22:15 Charge brandishes knife._  
  
He tripped over a bundle of ingredients and remembered where he was. Thankfully he didn’t fall, managed to regain his rhythm and kept moving.

A knife though? 

_Seriously?_

He scrolled on.

_23.11.1998, 21:00 Auror Quiesko takes duty._   
_23.11.1998, 21:04 Charge uses provocative language._   
_23.11.1998, 21:15 Charge casts nonverbal spell, is requested to verbalise._   
_23.11.1998, ±21:18 Charge uses threatening language._   
_23.11.1998, 21:47 Charge casts nonverbal spell, is AGAIN requested to verbalise._

Right, so the only notable events _that had been logged_ had happened near the end of Quiesko’s shift.

Now Harry was glad he’d decided _against_ writing down everything.   
It would look bad enough if Malfoy was reported to ‘just’ have manhandled an Auror, even if it had been to warn against a Residue Manifestation in the most dickish way possible… but if that had happened this soon after raging about ‘the greatness of being a Death Eater’ and _brandishing a fucking knife_ , he might as well go to Azkaban immediately.

Fuck’s sake. 

They definitely had to talk about this.

He looked ahead into the twisty tunnel, but there was still no end in sight.

What would Malfoy be doing now that nobody was watching him?

Harry sighed.   
He could only hope it wasn’t anything worth logging.

Annoyed, he looked back into the FieldScroll. 

…it wasn’t like he had anything else to do… 

Since the more recent entries were similar to what he’d already seen, he went to the very start.  
  
_Proactive and Protective Monitoring Log of DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, born 05.06.1980, hereafter referred to as ‘charge’._  
 _Monitoring commenced 02.09.1998, 15:37._

Quiesko’d had duty from the moment of the verdict and since he’d logged nothing but hovering charms, either Malfoy’s demeanour had been different _or_ Quiesko hadn’t had it out for him yet.

Hang on… 

….Malfoy’d of course also been monitored during _the Purge_ …

Harry nearly held his breath as he scrolled to it. 

It had been only a few days later.

Johnny had been on duty, and three events were mentioned. 

_05.09.1998, 16:42 charge admitted to st Mungo’s hospital_   
_05.09.1998, 18:23 charge loses consciousness_   
_05.09.1998, 19:58 charge receives emergency transhumeral amputation_

This was followed by weeks of nothing but shift changes.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. 

He skimmed over the entries until he reached the next ‘events’. These, too, were in Johnny’s writing.

_04.10.1998, 14:04 charge regains consciousness_   
_04.10.1998, 14:05 charge loses consciousness_

Nothing had happened overnight with Quiesko on duty, and the next day during Johnny’s shift Malfoy had faded in and out of consciousness a few more times.

The next night, too, had been uneventful… and then things got grim. 

_06.10.1998, 18:05 charge manhandled by st mungo’s staff_   
_06.10.1998, 20:07 charge treated carelessly by st mungo’s staff_

During most of Johnny’s shifts until Malfoy got home again, there were similar entries. 

  
Quiesko didn’t mention it a single time.

  
Harry put the FieldScroll back in its box, pocketed it, and looked ahead. 

Malfoy’d been a Death Eater, so it made sense that people hated him.  
His father’s confession of ‘grooming him into it’ had earned him some sympathy, but that had disappeared like leprechaun’s gold on 5 September. 

Since then, ‘the public’ reckoned that _the Purge_ wasn’t done until he was dead.

The staff of St. Mungo’s were people too… but hadn’t they taken the oath to help anyone in medical need?

Then again, what did ‘manhandling‘ or ‘treating carelessly’ even mean?   
Had his pillow not been fluffed properly? 

No, it’d probably been worse than that…  
Harry had heard people speak about _the Purge_ as if it’d been some divine retribution or something.

  
Fucking Hell, what was the point of logging anything if it was going to be _this_ unspecific? 

  
And how long _was_ this ridiculous tunnel?

* * *

  
_Three hours_.

The tunnel had been about _three hours_ long.

Thankfully he’d had some field snacks on him.

By the time the end came in sight, Harry’d read most of the FieldScroll and had entirely run out of patience. 

  
Johnny had logged everything that had made Malfoy look like a victim, whereas Quiesko’d logged everything that had made him look like a criminal. 

_Splendid_. 

Also, _neither_ of these arseholes had bothered to mention _what_ had been levitated or _what particular_ threatening behaviour had been displayed, which meant that their monitoring had been an absolute waste of time.

Top notch, these MACUSA lads.

Harry’d been released from the tunnel and found himself back between the kettles and jars and other fancy potions bollocks.  
The door wasn’t locked so he marched right out, into the empty Dark hallway, where he paused. 

Where would Malfoy be?

This was just another game of ‘Spot the Death Eater’, wasn’t it? The only difference was that this one was _alive_ at the time of playing.

Methodically he scouted the perimeter: first he went to the drawing room and looked around. Mentally he _dared_ the floor to move, but it felt like a raft on still water. 

_Good_.  
  
Malfoy didn’t strike him as the type to crouch under a fucking sofa, so unless he’d gone infantile and resorted to that, he wasn’t in this room.  
Harry checked under the furniture anyway. 

Then he went towards the fireplace he’d Floo’d in from.   
He hadn’t noticed a doorway in between, but he still gave every panel a tap with the back of his wand to be sure there weren’t any stereotypical hidden entrances behind pressure-sensitive panels or something. 

Also, punching things was cathartic.

There were no secret doors, so that was _one_ area of which he was relatively certain that it was secure. 

The entrance hall was so empty and enormous that Harry felt as if he was outside. And the longer he walked around here, the thinner the air seemed to become.  
  
He passed the double front doors as he remained close to the wall, then carefully opened the first door on the other side. 

It led to a ...living room? It was much smaller than the drawing room, but it had some chairs, a coffee table, a bookcase, another door and _another_ piano. This one was small, black, more block-shaped, and stood against a wall. 

Rich people were fucking ridiculous. 

Carefully Harry stepped in and the floor stayed still, which was pretty great.   
He sneaked through and opened the next door, only to find it was a built-in closet that held folded cloth at the top and some ceramics and dust at the bottom. 

Mrs. Figg’d had a cupboard like that in the hallway. 

Did this room even belong in this house? It seemed so mundane that it felt out of place.

Harry made his way back to the door he’d come from and was glad to see the hallway hadn’t disappeared on him. 

He continued along the wall, testing each panel he passed like he had before, making his way to the next door. It was ajar and he nudged it open with his foot, then peeked in carefully.   
Darkness…   
He cast a silent _Lumos_ , hoping to catch whatever might lurk there by surprise, but there was nobody. 

In the centre of the room stood a dark table as long as a train compartment, meticulously lined by chairs that had been cut out of the same wood. 

It felt Dark here and the air smelled moist, clammy and unhealthy. 

Then something moved on the floor.  
Carefully and quickly Harry checked, but there was nothing there.   
Yet the moment his gaze drifted below surface-level of the table, something moved atop it.

His focus snapped back to it — nothing.  
  
It _felt_ like there was something here, though.

He knelt, and when he caught the movement from the periphery of his sight again, he silently cast a Full Body-Bind.

The white flash of his spell had hit something as there was a _thud_ landing on the table, but there was nothing to see.

  
_Fuck._

  
_This better not be Residue._

When he stood up again, though his gaze hadn’t shifted, there was something on the table.

It was difficult to make out so he moved his wand to let the light strike it differently.

A woman lay on her back.   
Harry could see the top of her head, and he slowly and soundlessly moved around until the shadows parted to reveal the face of professor Burbage. 

She was trembling.

  
Hadn’t she been missing for well over a year?

  
“Professor..?” Harry asked quietly, not sure whether she was real. 

She made eye contact… and then her head raised off the table.   
When her shoulders raised, too, it was clear that this wasn’t a voluntary movement.

  
“She can’t hear you,” a female voice said.

Harry jumped and pointed his wand at its source.

Narcissa stood in the doorway at the opposite side of the room, hands covering her elbows, looking exhausted. 

“This happens when you hex what lurks here, when you try to ‘trap it’.”  
She pressed her lips together and both she and Harry looked at the professor, who was no longer touching the table at all. 

She was bent sideways a little and her clothes were clung to her as if she was in a tube.

 **!** Then she slid soundlessly away, feet first off of the side of the table, and hovered in a corner where she hardly moved at all anymore. 

“It won’t be long, now.” Narcissa said, not moving her gaze off the Manifestation.

 **!** Indeed, professor Burbage seemed to be rapidly decaying. 

**!** Harry moved his wand so he could see more clearly, and saw her skin and muscle fade at an alarming rate.   
He moved the light away.

 **!** “She was dead before she was eaten.” Narcissa said, her tone neutral. “It took almost a week before the snake lost its bulge.” 

**!** Harry looked over again and saw some final bits of bone fade.   
There was nothing left but some hair and threads of clothing.

“Does it vary at all?” he asked, not sure what else to say.

She shook her head.   
“Perhaps it becomes different if we sit at the table, like we did then… But Draco hasn’t wanted to try.”  
Her mouth smiled and one of her eyes narrowed.   
“I don’t blame him. It’s not like we can get everyone together… “ Her voice disappeared near the end of the sentence. 

She adjust her hands a little, looking more as if she was holding herself.  
“Why watch it unfold again when the chance of success is so slim?”

“I’m sorry.” Harry said.   
He’d meant it as a ‘sorry for your loss’ and wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just said that. 

  
She pulled the corners of her mouth back in acknowledgement, and then her face became neutral again.   
“Did the Vertigone help?” she calmly asked. 

She seemed so _done_.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Harry said. Thinking he should probably give it back to her, he got the bottle out of his pocket and held it up for her to see. 

“Please.” She stated, and turned around to return through the doorway she’d been standing in.

 _All right._  
That _probably_ meant to follow her.

He did, trying not to get too caught up in seeing the movement around the dining table anymore.

She’d led him to the kitchen and tapped the doorframe with the back of her finger, which lit the room. 

Harry _Nox_ ed his wand. 

In the middle was a square table, much like Harry had seen in ‘the brewing room’, though this one was wooden. At the far side was a stove that looked enormous and old fashioned, there was a stone oven underneath, and the counter tops were hewn out of marble. 

There was a sink so big that Harry could probably sit in it with feet and all, if he tried.

The room had two other doors - one had glass panes in it so he could see it led outside, the other one was an unlit archway.

She turned around as if a thought had just struck her. “Can I offer you anything?” she asked, touching her fingertips together.

“Um.”  
  
Harry didn’t trust her. 

She hadn’t done anything — fuck, she’d lied to Voldemort to save his life. Yet, somehow, seeing her here in this horror house, looking as drained as she did… she’d probably serve him bleach by accident. 

If wizards _had_ bleach, that was.

Then again, he’d taken a potion that Malfoy had handed to him, and he hadn’t questioned that, either.

 _Trust is a_ choice, _Harry._  
“Yeah. Water, please.”

She nodded and turned away, flicked her wand, and a chalice-like glass appeared out of nowhere, which filled itself while hovering under the tap. 

Then she went through the dark doorway, which looked as if it were shielded with liquid. The moment she stepped through, Harry couldn’t see her anymore.

She returned within seconds with sprigs of mint which she put in his glass, along with a quart of lime. 

Right, sure, even _water_ couldn’t be plain here, could it?

She flicked her wand again and there was crushed ice in it, too.

_All right, calm down._

She took the glass and handed it over to him. Harry accepted it and gave her back the Vertigone.

She held it in her palm and looked at it as if it were a precious gift. Her eyes sparkled.

“I had two servings,” Harry said, before making an awkward ‘cheers’ gesture and taking a sip of water.  
  
Her nod was hardly more than a twitch and now they were so close together, Harry could see even better how absolutely drained she looked.

She pocketed the bottle and looked at him once more.   
Then she smiled.

That these were clearly separate actions made Harry nervous.

“Where is your son?” he asked, keen to get away from her. 

“Oh, I expect he’s sleeping,” she said dismissively. 

“Can you take me to his room?” Harry asked, even more uncomfortable now. The idea of going to watch Malfoy _sleep_ didn’t seem right at all.

But yeah. This was his job.

She nodded and made a gesture to the room that they had come from, inviting him to return to it. 

Harry stepped through and she led the way, about a pace ahead of him.

They went up the grand staircase, which surprisingly took their weight. He had expected to crack through it at any moment, as if it were made out of chalk.

Once upstairs she guided him to the right, where the floor was covered with a green, black and silver carpet. It was a bit deeper in the centre where the stone underneath had worn away.   
On the walls were pale rectangles where Harry was sure portraits had hung. Here and there were scorch marks, and there were side tables and such that had vases and other decorative things on them.

The hallway turned to the right and she stopped in front of the first door on the left, knocking twice on the top wooden panel with the back of her finger.   
“Draco?” she asked.

No response.

“There are Manifestations inside,” she said softly to Harry, her mouth performing something like a smile. 

The current light made her eyes seem dead and there was a Darkness here that tugged at him differently than it did downstairs. Almost as if there was a draft, but one he could only feel inside his skin.

He nodded, bolstering himself. 

Then she opened the door. 


	6. Intentional

  
The first thing Harry noticed when he followed Narcissa over the threshold was the energy in the room. 

It felt chaotic.   
_Dangerous._

There was a startled little “Hm!” sound to the left and when he looked over, he saw a four poster bed out of dark wood. The curtains and sheets were white, and he could see a head of platinum blond hair, covered by a skinny forearm. 

Malfoy moved under the blanket as if he was flopping like a fish.

Narcissa entered the room further and stood beside the bed, beholding the movement without comment. 

_Was this normal?_

She sighed and then said, exasperatedly: “Darling, you need to stop dismissing your Auror detail.” 

So he’d done that before?   
Neither Johnny nor Quiesko had logged it.  
  
Then Harry noticed the indentations that appeared and disappeared on the sheets - someone invisible was jumping on the bed.

Some mumbles from the pillow included the word ‘tomorrow’. 

“Draco; we _have_ standards,” Narcissa said strictly.

Harry, uncomfortable at witnessing this, looked around the room and had a sip of his Fancy Water.   
An antique broom was mounted on the wall - a _Lightyear 360_ , judging from the style of the bristles and the shape of the handle. 

Of _course_ Malfoy would casually have an antique above his bed. 

There was a Slytherin shield above it, its design different than Harry was used to.   
…it might be as old as the broom. 

The ceiling was out of polished grey stone and sprinkled with tiny specks of light, scattered like stars in the night sky. 

Beside the bed was a book case, and behind Narcissa was a large writing desk with a green leather surface and a wooden desk chair.  
Above it were two windows with drawn white curtains, and beside the desk, in front of the doorway, were a moss green sofa, a dark wooden coffee table and two brown leather chairs. There were two _more_ windows there, probably ‘overlooking the gardens’ or whatever.

“The sooner you move, the sooner it’s over.” Narcissa said, sounding a bit more friendly.   
Malfoy didn’t respond. 

Harry kept looking around.

To the right was one of those folding screen things, each white panel containing a mirror and some minimalistic poncy decoration in the top corners. It seemed to shield the ‘sitting area’ from the enormous closet that stood against the wall, which was made out of dark wood as well.   
It had tiny square windows in it which _only_ made sense if the thing housed something the size of pixies that wanted a fucking view.

Beside this ridiculously posh piece of furniture was a door. 

Harry would bet today’s paycheck that it led to Malfoy’s very own bathroom.

Then Bellatrix’ voice lashed through the room, intoned in her trademark mental way.   
“Good _morning_ Draco!”

It’d come from the bed and Harry had nearly dropped his glass as he whipped towards it, wand at the ready.

Malfoy leaned on his arm and faced his mother, who looked at him with heartbreak on her face.   
“It’s been worse,” she said consolingly.

“It’s not better,” he responded flatly.

Harry saw the remnant of his left arm move under the blanket and watched him fall back — apparently he’d tried to lean on it.   
Surprise made way for a grimace of pain on his face as he rolled to the right, freeing the blunt end of the stump from pressing into the mattress. 

Harry could see that it was bandaged, since Malfoy was wearing something that looked like a T-shirt. 

Apparently he hadn’t gotten _that_ tailored.

Malfoy rolled onto his back and craned his neck to make eye-contact, as if in response to Harry’s thoughts.

A vein had burst in the bottom of his left eye and the red jumped out from its pale, almost monochrome surroundings.   
The look lasted maybe three seconds and his expression was unreadable… Then he sighed and looked at the ceiling.

Harry felt his face burn though he wasn’t sure why, exactly.   
Could Residue allow people to read minds?

He’d have to look that up.  
  
‘ _Malfoy?_ ’ he thought to him, but there was no response.

“I’ve brought more balm,” Narcissa said, getting a jar from a pocket.   
When Malfoy didn’t respond, she placed it beside his pillow.

“Should I help you?” she asked, but he’d started to slowly shake his head before she’d even finished the question. 

“Get some sleep,” he said as soon as he could do so without interrupting her. 

He, too, seemed pretty much _done_.

Then again, it was about one in the morning and he had just woken up.

She nodded - nearly curtsied, really, and seemed grateful when she turned to Harry.   
“You’ll be all right?” she asked, clearly wanting the answer to be ‘yes’.

  
“Yeah,” Harry said, seeing Malfoy flop his forearm over his forehead in the periphery of his sight. 

“Wonderful,” she said.

It took Harry a moment to realise that he was blocking the door.

He stepped aside awkwardly as she smiled at him — seemed to make an effort to involve her eyes in it, too. 

Then she glided out of the room, leaving the two of them together.

_Wonderful._

Harry went to the desk and put his glass down. 

Malfoy glanced over, hardly moving his head at all. Then he raised his eyebrows and pulled the corners of his mouth down, before looking blankly at the ceiling again.

Harry waited a few seconds, hoping for an explanation.   
“What?” He asked, annoyed that he had to.

“You’ll want to be careful with that,” Malfoy told the ceiling.

“Why?” Harry asked impatiently. 

He’d had a third of the water already… what would be wrong with it? 

He’d known not to trust Narcissa to serve him anything, he’d _known_ it, and he’d talked himself into thinking it was okay. 

_constant vigilance_

His throat tightened.  
 _Fuck_.

The blood rushed in his ears and his head felt funny.   
_Fuck fuck fuck_

What had she given him? 

It hadn’t been mint, had it, it’d been some similar looking leaf and she’d been confused, or there was Residue on the fucking lime or something, and it was going to kill him.   
_The Boy Who Died of Dodgy Water._

“You’ll see,” Malfoy said, shrugging a little.   
Then he _yawned_.

“No - tell me!” Harry demanded, stepping closer and looking down at Malfoy, who had _the fucking nerve_ to look back at him admonishingly.

“Calm down, Potter…” he said, condescension in his tone, looking confused.

“No! What did she give me?” Harry angrily stroked a hand over his face, turned around, stepped towards the desk and looked in the glass. It just looked like …fancy water.

Smelled minty, too.

…but nothing in this house was _normal_ , was it?

Malfoy didn’t respond.

Meanwhile, Harry’s sight narrowed and the rushing in his ears increased.

“ _Fuck_!”  
He marched into what was _indeed_ a bathroom. There was a window with a sheer white curtain, the walls were covered with smooth grey glittering stone, the floor was white marble, and the silver-footed bathtub, the sink, and even the fucking toilet seat were hewn out of emerald.

Harry leaned over the sink and stuck two fingers down his throat, but caught himself.  
 _You’re a wizard, Harry._

That’s right.   
And being an Auror meant being prepared for anything.

He got a bezoar out of his pocket and swallowed it down. Instantly his throat felt normal again.

  
Not trusting any of the water in this building anymore, he cast _Aguamenti_ on his face. 

His sight normalised. 

_There._

The whooshing in his ears decreased, too.

_Better already._

Now he was going to go back out there, ask Malfoy why he had been so casual about having him drink something potentially lethal, and —…

  
…hang on.

  
…had he _really_ , though?

  
Would _Malfoy_ , who’d _not_ given him up to Voldemort when he could have, who hadn’t killed _anyone_ , really have been _that_ casual about letting Harry potentially drink poison?

  
Unlikely.

Yet he’d felt better when he’d taken the bez—… no. 

No, he’d felt better when he’d _stopped worrying_.

…

So.

Harry might have been a bit of a dick.

  
He was _fine_ though, that was the most important thing.

  
And now he just had to go back there and spend eight more hours in the same room as his ‘charge’.

Malfoy was on his desk chair, facing the bathroom door. His white garment showed more of the black vein that went up his throat. A smaller, finer one was visible too, squiggling its way right above his collar bone.  
One leg was tucked underneath him and his knee peeked out from under his sleepwear. 

It looked as if he was missing two limbs.

The other foot was on the ground, gently moving him from side to side.   
He was gaunt; Harry’d noticed it before, but in these clothes and with the current light, it was more obvious. There were bags under his eyes, and the tiredness he displayed went beyond ‘being woken up at one in the morning’.

His arm lay on the armrest as he twirled his wand in his hand, but the moment Harry opened the bathroom door, Malfoy stopped moving entirely and focused on him.

“ _So_...” he said empathetically, channelling his horrible father again.   
He even sat a little more upright.  
“You were attempting to gather some… information..?”

Harry sighed.

  
“You have asked me what ‘she’ has given you. Now… Judging from the visual clues here; transparent liquid with lime, mint, and ice, one would expect a…”  
He paused and looked at Harry meaningfully, as if he hoped they would finish the sentence together.  
“… _beverage_.” he said slowly, still looking at Harry as if he were patiently teaching him something difficult. 

_Condescending dickhead._

“And considering that you are on duty, it is _somewhat_ unlikely that you would be having liquor, despite the hour...” He looked at Harry as if he awaited confirmation.

Harry glared back. 

“No; stay with me here, we’ve almost gotten to the bottom of this,” he continued, a mocking smile on one half of his mouth.

“You see - there is only one ‘she’ on these premises, and she just _happens_ to be _my Mother_ …” his gaze darkened along with his tone. 

The way Malfoy’d angled his face as he spoke had cast it mostly into shadows, so the blue vein that sneaked over his jaw into his cheek became visible. Meanwhile the bags under his eyes seemed nearly black.

 _Straight_ from a horror film.

“Which _means_ …” Malfoy said, more threatening this time, ”You think she would be so _reckless_ as to attempt to poison an _Auror_?” 

Harry was confused.   
He’d expected Malfoy to have been offended that he hadn’t _trusted_ his mum… But that didn’t seem to be the issue. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy continued. “Let alone _Hero Potter himself_?”

Harry’d been ready to apologise, but now he didn’t know anymore what he’d be apologising _for_.  
“I didn’t think it was intentional.” He said, not really sure how else to respond. 

“Of _course_ you didn’t!” Malfoy said, again sounding like his father.   
“Which is why you asked me what she’d given you, isn’t it?” He gave him a piercing look, eyebrows raised, sneer on his face. “Because if it’s an _accident_ , I have a way of _knowing_.”   
His facial expression, along with the body language of being more asleep than awake, made him look mental.

Harry felt his temper rise.  
“Then why’d you say I had to be careful?” 

Malfoy moved his stump, then kind of froze and his face turned paler.   
He looked up as if something above him would have caught his attention, which made the burst vein in his eye visible once more.  
”Pick up your glass,” he said flatly.

  
Harry suspiciously approached.   
Malfoy looked far less horror-y when the light struck him like this. He just looked… unhealthy, really. 

Keeping his eyes on him, Harry reached for the glass… which instantly smashed to pieces against the opposite wall.

In a reflex he’d drawn his wand.  
  
Malfoy’d just flinched, then moved his gaze from the ceiling back to Harry.  
“The tables are a bit… difficult.” He said dryly. 

“Residue, yeah?” Harry asked.

Malfoy glared at him, looking …annoyed?   
His face was hard to read.   
“Isn’t it your _job_ to find that out?”

“You’re allowed to help, you know.”

“Am I?” Malfoy perked up in such a mocking way that Harry felt shivers of annoyance go down his neck.  
“Because as I recall — when I tried to do exactly that, you did the _opposite_ of what I told you to do.” He looked at Harry meaningfully. 

Harry sighed.   
Technically Malfoy _had_ warned him about the ramp in the brewing room, but there was no way that that had been well-intentioned.  
  
“And when I tried to do so _again_ just now,” Malfoy’s look became more pointed, “You became aquaphobic _and_ accused my Mother of potential involuntary manslaughter.” He paused dramatically.   
“So… honestly, Potter, I think you are _beyond_ my help.”

Harry’s blood boiled.   
“Right. Well maybe you should just go back to sleep, then.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You did _not_ wake me just to insult my Mother’s intelligence.” His eyes narrowed. ”Besides - _I_ don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”

  
“You’re refusing bedtime so you can bully me instead?”   
Harry scoffed.   
“Your mother seems to think you have standards, for some reason.”

  
“Oh, I see.”  
Malfoy wrinkled his nose as if he didn’t have the energy to scowl. “When Johnny is here you’re all ‘business as usual’, but the moment we’re alone, you just condescend to me.”   
He’d said it petulantly and somewhat under his breath, but it’d been clear as day.

_Excuse me?_

“ _I_ condescend to _you_?”   
Harry couldn’t believe his ears.   
He also couldn’t remember when he’d last wanted to punch someone _this_ badly.

Malfoy looked him dead in the eyes.   
“Yes.”

“No!” 

Malfoy just looked back at him, slowly rotating his wand in his hand, slightly turning the chair from side to side.

“What about the ‘beverage’ bullshit?”   
Harry might have shouted that question. 

He didn’t care.

“What about it?” Malfoy asked slowly, face unreadable.

_Merlin help him.  
_

Harry was going to kill him.   
He was going to _actually_ kill Malfoy and it was going to be great.

“You — Ff…!”   
Harry took a few deep breaths.   
He felt like a bull about to run through a cape.

“Fuck! You _know_! You _fucking_ know, don’t act like you’re _stupid_. You can’t be _this_ fucking insufferable and not _know_!”

Malfoy’d stopped moving, held his wand limply and looked at him expressionlessly for a few seconds. 

“Hm.”   
Then he made a face as if his own stupid little noise was a point worth considering. 

“That is _one_ way to look at it…” he said slowly, the voice of fucking reason. 

Harry seethed.

Malfoy continued.   
“But... indulge me for a moment, consider it from _my_ perspective.” He made a face as if to ask for permission. 

Harry glared at him with fuming exasperation. 

Malfoy sighed “I’m just… minding my business, having a rapport with my Auror detail, trying to...“   
He got a distant look in his eyes. 

“...you know.”   
He took a breath. 

Harry didn’t really know, though he did remember Johnny telling Malfoy not to be an arsehole.   
_So much for that,_ he thought, but it felt petulant.

Some of the guilt he’d felt when he’d seen them together reared its head.

Malfoy continued.   
“But then _you_ come in, uproot everything…. — and I clean your sick, I get you something against your ailment, I _warn_ you against the Manifestations which you _specifically came here to study_ …” He looked at Harry meaningfully. 

Admonishingly. 

It only lasted a second.   
  
“And then you _wake me_ — “ He quickly raised and then slowly lowered his hand as he spoke — a weird gesture for emphasis, made while holding his wand between two fingers as if it was a poncy cigarette holder.

Harry was about to speak up, but Malfoy gave him a look _so_ sudden and _so_ foul that he forgot what he was going to say.

“- which you _did_ , because if your sheer _incompetence_ wouldn’t have gotten you stuck, you wouldn’t have lost track of me, which means you wouldn’t have had to be _escorted here_ …”   
He’d spat the words and now paused to pant, looking absolutely livid.

“…by my _Mother_ , who is _busy enough_ …. And then you _insult_ her…. When _I know_ she has been nothing but courteous to you…”   
He sounded very fucking breathless and actually paused to breathe for a few seconds.

He didn’t break eye contact, and Harry felt the rage begin to drain away.

“You _chose_ to be here, you are an _Auror on duty_.”  
Malfoy’s nostrils flared.

“ _You_ get to go home at _who even knows_ what time, and I get another stranger to follow me around.”  
His eye twitched, as did the corner of his mouth. 

Harry’s anger was definitely gone now.

“This isn’t _school_ , Potter… This is _my life_ in which you’ve trodden.”   
He panted more, seemed to sway a bit, and leaned back in the chair.

Was he going to pass out?

“So.” His eyes widened and he looked fucking mental again.  
“ _Excuse me_ for being part of the job that you went out of your way to get, and then _being insufferable_.”

Harry felt his face burn. “I’m sor-…”

“ _Don’t!_ you dare.” Malfoy interrupted, pointing at him, still holding his wand between two fingers.

Harry was silent for a moment. 

He’d mentally gone through his Auror training, but none of his courses had covered anything like this.   
Not even the special _Deescalation Tactics_ meeting he’d had two weeks ago.

“…the fuck am I supposed to say?”

“Just do your job.” Malfoy’d said it flatly, then took a deep breath.   
He was looking up at the little lights in the ceiling and blinked slowly.   
“Bite back, if you can.” 

Harry just stood there, feeling awkward. 

Then Malfoy added, almost like an afterthought:  
“But if you _dare_ call me out again... I will guilt you straight to Hell.”

“Are you..?” Harry looked at him in absolute confusion, but Malfoy didn’t deign to look down.   
“Is that a threat?”

“You think I’m manipulative enough to use your own conscience against you..?” Something like a smile unfurled on his face.  
“ _Thank_ you.” 

The smile widened, so wry that his entire face seemed to shape around it.   
“Nobody has had _that_ much faith in me, since…”   
He trailed off and raised his stump a little, as if to show it off. 

This was the first time Harry had seen him move it intentionally. 

“…well… since my _employment_ , I suppose.”  
The sleeve had fallen back a bit and Malfoy seemed to study the bandages that entirely covered it, though Harry could see some black near his armpit. 

The horrible smile on his face made way for a green tint around his nose.  
Malfoy closed his eyes and then lowered the stump.   
He moved very slowly. 

“I’m going to have a bath,” he said tonelessly.

It took a few seconds for him to make any movement at all, and in this time, Harry’s mind raced.

Malfoy was supposed to be monitored both proactively _and_ protectively… and he seemed properly mental.  
Should he be allowed alone in an enclosed space with his wand?

Should he be alone at all?  
  
Malfoy, meanwhile, pointed his wand at the bathroom door so it opened further.   
The tap began to run.

He clicked his tongue, as if he’d just remembered something he would have rather forgotten.   
“To help you overcome your incompetence, I’ll cast the privacy glamour.” He paused to blink. “It will save you the effort of gawking.” 

Suddenly there was a movement beside Harry, and he jumped to it with his wand pointed.

One of the leather chairs had turned to face the bathroom door - as if it were ready for a show.   
An invisible weight pressed into it.

  
Malfoy gave it as wide a berth as he could when he entered the bathroom.   
“Just Residue, Potter…” he sighed, disappearing from sight.  
“There’s nothing but Residue here.”


	7. Manifestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Multiple warnings: The bit shortly after ‘a jellyfish’ contains graphic semi-medical descriptions of ‘looking into’ an unalive Death Eater. Also, there is implied potential suicide, Burbage’s ‘situation’ from two chapters ago is considered, and there is implied unwanted voyeurism. There will be bold exclamation marks to indicate potential triggers at the beginning of sentences mentioning them. Be prepared.**

_25.11.1998, approx. 01:50 - Charge Hovered glass jar towards self_   
_25.11.1998, approx. 01:50 - Charge cast privacy glamour_

Harry’d been taught the privacy glamour spell by Evans during the _Concealment and Disguise_ course.   
It had been treated like an afterthought because it wouldn’t be used to save lives. 

Harry hadn’t minded.   
The point was to be able to continuously watch a charge without seeing intimate details, so he’d learnt to cast some shield-y semi-circle that was as transparent as those typical plastic shower doors. 

It would do the job.

Malfoy had created a wavy sheet of golden coloured honey grate, each hexagon filled with a sheer layer that shone like a soap bubble.   
Its bottom was level with the edge of the emerald bathtub and it glistened when it caught the light.

It was beautiful.

Especially surrounded by the green of the bath and the white marble floor, _even_ with creepy sleepy dickhead-in-pyjamas moving around it.

Harry’d been watching him cast when he’d remembered that he was _literally_ supposed to be taking notes. 

He’d sat in Malfoy’s desk chair, since the Residue Prime seat that half-blocked the doorway seemed a bit _much_.

When he’d looked up from his FieldScroll again, Malfoy’d been on the far side of the glamour, just about to step into the bath. Because of how he was angled, even though Harry couldn’t see details, he could see the black lines on his back. 

As if a jellyfish was trying to crawl out from underneath the bandages.

Harry’d seen this before in the field.   
The discolouration generally covered about a quarter of the torso and the face, radiating out from the Mark.

Tristan had casually performed a ‘sneaky little autopsy’ one morning to see how it looked on the inside.   
It had been the first time that Harry’d missed Branagh’s more… _theoretical_ approach.

**!** The blackened veins were firm like plastic, and the surrounding flesh looked like it’d been rubbed against charcoal.   
**!** The heart had partially blackened and hardened too.

**!** Apparently it had been ‘interestin’’ that the blackness affected the veins, yet hadn’t followed the blood flow.

“ _I guess your Voldie didn’t wanna spoil the membership requirement._ ” Tristan had drawled in his Maine accent.

**!** Tristan had looked inside the arm itself as well, and the closer he’d come to the burst blister that remained of the Mark, the more the veins had been snot-coloured with the structure of rotten fruit. 

Oof, and the smell…

Harry had lost his breakfast to the bushes. 

“ _He suffered from decompensation…_ ” Tristan had reached into the arm and there had been a soft ‘pth’ sound, ” _…and vasodilation was wicked hard… so I guess he had ischaemia with resulting reperfusion._ ”

Harry’d stood in the bright sunlight with his course book, working out what Tristan’d said as quickly as he could.   
The jargon had all been new at the time.  
 **!** Apparently, because the heart hadn’t managed to circulate blood properly and the firm blood vessels couldn’t widen, the restricted blood supply had then damaged the tissue. 

“ _So... That’s what killed him, yeah?_ ” Harry’d asked as Tristan had offered him a coke. 

He’d chuckled.   
“ _Dude. No._ ”

**!** This particular Death Eater’d tried a DIY amputation and had bled out. 

“ _Aurorin’ 101, Harry: just_ look.”   
Then Tristan’d winked at him.

  
Anyway.   
It was no wonder that Malfoy hadn’t been able to keep his arm. 

He was sat in the bath by now and when he moved his wand forward, it was followed by a long white snake that came from his chest.  
It took Harry a while to realise that this was the bandage unravelling. 

_25.11.1998, approx. 01:55 - Charge Hovered bandages_  
 _25.11.1998, approx. 01:55 - Charge Vanished bandages_  
  
Malfoy would have been entirely screwed if he hadn’t been a wizard.   
Then again, he literally _couldn’t_ be in this situation if he’d been a Muggle, could he?

Yeah… he was indeed ‘inconvenienced by being a war criminal’.

People were going to monitor him for the next two years _at least_ , depending on how the log would be interpreted by the Ministry.

The glamour gently waved as if there was a breeze, and it smelled of the air after much-needed rain.   
Malfoy sighed as he sank out of sight and as if in response, the invisible weight in the leather chair shifted. 

Harry didn’t particularly want to know how _that_ Manifestation had come about.

  
… 

**!** Malfoy wasn’t going to drown himself in his fancy tub, was he?

…even Quiesko thought him capable of something like that. 

And considering how Malfoy’d threatened to _weaponise Harry’s conscience_ , did that mean he’d frame him for it?

Would he be _that_ mental?

  
“Are you still alive?” Harry asked, hardly joking.

Malfoy’s hand slowly appeared in sight and as it approached the glamour shield, Harry could distinguish the V-sign.

“Cool, thanks.” 

He yawned.  
There was Invigoration Draught in his pocket but he’d rather not take it.   
The buzz it gave was like a mild electric current that felt too much like stress. Besides, he’d ruin his chance of sleep for the next four hours if he took any.

If Malfoy would just fuck off to bed, Harry could cast a signalling charm for when he’d wake up… and have a nap himself until then.

But yeah.   
Malfoy ‘didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning’. 

Fuck’s sake.

Maybe if he’d just keep him talking, he wouldn’t have to wonder whether he was breathing bubbles.

“Did Johnny teach you the privacy glamour?”

Malfoy paused lowering his hand for a second. Then it fell from sight as he clicked his tongue.

Harry was about to ask something else instead, when Malfoy responded, sounding echoey.   
“He trusted me to use a _door_.” 

Come to think of it, Harry hadn’t seen any mention of the glamour in the log _at all_.  
“So what about Quiesko?”

“He didn’t.”

This was going _brilliantly_.

“So who taught you then?” Harry tried.

“My Mother.”

“It’s nice.”

There was an affirmative “Hm” in response.

Harry’d expected him to be more susceptible to compliments, but all right then.   
Maybe Malfoy generally wasn’t very chatty at two in the morning.

Annoyed, Harry looked around for something to comment on that might get a better reply. 

… Malfoy _had_ told him to ‘just do his job’, hadn’t he? 

Cool, let’s try that, then.  
“You brandished a knife at Quiesko?”

Malfoy snorted. “So he made a little note of that, did he?”

Harry could hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah. A few hours before you went off on him about how _great_ Death Eaters are, apparently.”

“Oh, yes.” He sounded toneless again. 

“What happened?”

“You do _interrogations_ now?” Malfoy asked mockingly. “I don’t have my solicitor present, I’m afraid.”

“This is serious, though. Most of the Ministry would jump at the chance to send you to Azkaban, and this is exactly the kind of shit they need to justify it.”

Malfoy used his insufferable tone again. “Let me see… Spacious detached multi-storey property, ocean view, no neighbours for _miles_ …”

Harry could see him draw something blue in the air with his wand, but through the glamour he couldn’t make out what it was.

“Did you enjoy it there or something?” He asked, exasperated.

“Well, since the Dementors have moved out...” Malfoy trailed off consideringly.

The horrible things hadn’t been abolished until August, and Malfoy’d been in Azkaban from the moment the war ended until his verdict came in September.   
Surely it hadn’t been nice either with or without them.

Was he just taking the piss?  
“You can’t _want_ to go to prison.” Harry said, tone of disbelief.

Malfoy made his little “hm” noise again.

“There’d be people guarding y- …”

“Oh not _people_!” Malfoy interrupted him dramatically. “Can’t have someone watch my every move, that would be _awful_!”

“Are you _serious_ though?”

Malfoy didn’t respond.

“You’d have no wand! And no emerald fucking bathtub, either.”

Again, Malfoy remained quiet. 

“… and you do _know_ that people want you dead since _the Pu-…_ Early September, don’t you?”

“Hm.” It was a sound of acknowledgement, nothing more.  
Malfoy swirled his wand around and drew some more blue in the air.

Oh fuck, he was serious, wasn’t he?

Had he intentionally provoked Quiesko?

Time to try a different tack.

“What about your mother?” Harry asked.

“What about her?” Malfoy responded flatly.

Harry sighed. This was not what he’d had in mind for this ‘conversation’, or whatever this was. 

The Invigoration Draught seemed more tempting by the second.

“She’d miss you.” He said.   
What else could he say?

“Oh, you think she would rather brew potions for me for the rest of my life?”

Harry yawned.  
“You’re good at potions,” He responded, rubbing his eyes.

“I hadn’t thought of that!” Malfoy exclaimed, suddenly full of venom. “So I guess she can _hold_ the ingredients while _I_ cut them! _So_ useful. Or, better yet; I will stir. I’ll just _stir_ , shall I, that will _really_ take the load off of her.”

Oh.   
Yeah.   
You couldn’t charm potions ingredients because it’d ruin their effectiveness. Sticking charms wouldn’t be an option, and cutting something while it rolled around wasn’t doable.   
Potions were an exact art.

Harry preferred to do things by hand, so he’d forgotten about this. 

Fuck.

… hang on.  
“Why doesn’t she just buy these potions, anyway?”

Malfoy inhaled deeply and then remained silent. 

“Are they that hard to come by?”

Harry waited a few more seconds while listening intently. Nothing.

“She gets money from the Ministry, right?”

Absolute silence.

“Malfoy?”

There was the soft echoey sound of sloshing, and then the catching of breath. The blue lines in the air blew away like smoke.

Wait a second…  
“Did you _really_ just hide under water?”

A deep sigh swayed the glamour and the smell of after-rain wafted over again.  
“Potter… ”

“Yeah?”

“Perhaps the magnitude of your Order of Merlin has you so rattled that you mixed up your FieldScrolls…,” Malfoy paused to breathe, ”…but you’re supposed to monitor _me_ and assess the _Residue_.” 

Harry scoffed, amused.   
”Okay, fine. I’ll not talk to you and just log your hostile behaviour.”

“No; I’ve expressed no threat and my tone is a matter of interpretation, so there’s no defensible hostility for you to mention.”   
His response had only a hint of the mocking tone he’d used before, and there seemed to be some urgency in it.

Harry was a little surprised at the seriousness. Maybe Malfoy hadn’t provoked Quiesko intentionally, after all.

Malfoy continued, sounding nearly placating. “Instead of getting on my nerves, you could try assessing some Residue. You know, the reason _you_ are here?”

Oh, yeah.   
He preferred Johnny.   
  
The thought of focusing on Assessment during the first shift seemed a bit much, especially considering how tired Harry was.   
He hadn’t even gotten the tour yet, had he?   
“Yeah, next time.” 

He yawned again.

The silence that followed was _scandalised._

There was the sound of sloshing water, and then a sigh that seemed defeated.  
“…you’re surrounded by the aspect of your job that’s so _irresistible_ that you flaunted your scar for it, yet you rather doze off while you watch me _bathe_ than work on it?”

Harry felt his face flush.   
“I can’t _see_ you,” he managed, flustered. 

“Try the other chair.” Malfoy responded bitterly. 

Harry felt the hair on his neck rise.   
“No thanks.” 

Malfoy did have a point though - Harry had actually been _hoping_ to get some sleep during work time, and that just wasn’t right.   
( Nor was being thrown around by a _floor_ or having a three hour uphill stroll underneath someone’s stairs, but then again, those were exactly the things he was here to fix. )

Also, that chair gave _him_ the creeps, already. Judging from how Malfoy had avoided it as he’d passed by...

…yeah.   
Maybe Harry should get started on Residue Assessment today, after all.

He got a vial of Invigoration Draught from his pocket and downed it, then got his other FieldScroll out.   
The draught began to work just when he unboxed it, so it seemed as if that caused the rush of energy he felt. As if he was excited to get started.

He’d take any enthusiasm he could get, illusion or not.   
That chair was _gross_.

_Brown leather chair in bedroom, moved & turned towards bathroom door when tap ran. Shifted when movement in bath._

These notes were just for him, so he didn’t have to worry about formatting. 

He heard from the intake of breath that Malfoy was about to speak again, but Harry beat him to it.

“What do you know about the chair Manifestation?” He used his Auror tone.  
  
There was a beat of silence.   
“…it’s quite pure.” 

Huh, genuine cooperation? Good. 

Okay, so the way this Manifested was pretty similar to its Root. 

**!** That was interesting, since professor Burbage had looked alive as he’d seen her be swallowed, though she’d really been dead at the time. Not to mention the eye contact, the way her decay had sped up, and that she’d initially appeared as an unidentifiable movement around the table… 

Apparently the purity of the Manifestations was inconsistent. 

And the drawing room floor had taught him that they could differ per person, too.

…he hadn’t even seen half the house, had he?   
Fuck, he really had his work cut out for him.

“Apart from the tables, it’s… _cohesive_.” Malfoy volunteered. “The energy, the bed, the chair… they belong together.” He sounded defeated.

Harry wrote that down, annoyed by the buzz of the draught.   
“Why do you stay here? You have plenty of other rooms, right?” 

Malfoy sighed. 

“Are they worse?” 

“ _No_ , Potter, they’re not _worse_.” He spat. Then he sighed again. 

Harry added the date to his notes just in case that’d turn out to be relevant, while he hoped Malfoy would continue on his own initiative. 

“You’re the Auror dealing with Residue, so -… You _are_ taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

Harry wasn’t sure why Malfoy’d interrupted himself to ask that, let alone why he’d ask at all.

“Yeah of course!” Harry raised the FieldScroll. “Look, taking notes and everything.”

He saw Malfoy’s head slowly appear through the glamour, then lower out of sight again. 

Silence.

“Is it a matter of principle or something? Since it’s your room and all?” Harry asked.

“No.” Malfoy said briskly. 

Harry sighed. “Look, I can observe this thing for weeks and find out half of what you know right now, so you might as well tell me.”

“I’m _thinking_ of the _words_ , all right?”

Harry rubbed his eyes - the draught always made them sting.   
Malfoy didn’t continue.  
“Would it help if you pretend I’m someone else?” 

“Hm?”

“I’ll be quiet and you can pretend I’m Johnny or something. Would that help?”

Malfoy sighed with a snarl in it, somehow.   
“Just… _shut up_ and be professional. All right?” 

_Okay, snappy._  
Harry pedantically remained quiet.

“The M-….” Malfoy exhaled. 

It took a while before he tried again.  
“Dark Residue from a single source is like a web of sludge, I hope you know _that_ much at least…” His condescension sounded forced. 

Harry _had_ known that.

“This has been our family home since 1068, so obviously there is _generations_ worth of familial residue. There were places where I’d _know_ an ancestor had been, what they were doing. Little snippets of the past sprinkling into mind — Grandfather grabbing a particular book, a tenth-great-grandfather opening a door… You know.”

Harry knew… in _theory_.   
In practise he couldn’t help but be jealous of having something like _that_ as part of daily life.

“So when the Dark Lord occupied our home, he… ” Malfoy paused and seemed to think. “ _…poisoned the well._ ”   
He’d said it with such _intent_ that it sounded like a spell.

He cleared his throat. “In a home, everybody leaves an impression. Some fade, like footprints under water… Others stay, and warp, like carvings in a tree.”   
He paused and doodled something blue in the air again. 

His gestures seemed more restrained now.   
“The walls have ears, the ceilings have eyes, the floor _remembers_.” 

Harry, somewhat uncomfortable, took notes. He’d read a little about this in preparation, but that had all been theoretical. 

Malfoy continued almost casually. “So since the sludge web spoilt the familial… there have been nothing but snippets of the _recent_ past.”

Oh.

“And… Mother suspects that the Mark itself _is_ harnessed Residue, somehow.”

Harry felt the weight of the implication, but didn’t quite understand it.

As he spoke, Malfoy’s pale arm had stuck out from the tub and he drew a baby blue spiderweb in the air.   
Through the glamour it looked like it had velvety green bits.  
“In this room, at this moment, my aunt is on the sofa, her feet on the table.”

Harry’s gaze snapped to the sofa.   
There was nothing there, not even an indentation. 

**!** “She’s watching _Greyback…_ ” Malfoy trailed off meaningfully, using his wand to point the chair without even raising his head over the edge of the tub.  
The honey grate bulged and became a fierce neon red where it was prodded. 

Harry felt his face drain as he looked at the leather chair again.

“Nothing _happened,_ of course… She wouldn’t leave him alone with me.”  
He withdrew his wand. The glamour swayed a bit and recovered its colour. 

Malfoy breathed irregularly for a moment, then added almost inaudibly: “…but he’s still watching.”

Harry decided that that chair was going to be hit with _Incendio_ as soon as it safely could. 

_Be professional._

“So why _don’t_ you stay in another room?” He asked, heated.   
The Invigoration Buzz didn’t help.

“Because the Mark burns when I stray too far from the norm… and this has been my bedroom for as long as I can remember.” 

Some water sloshed.   
The rain-smell reached Harry again.

“You mean like phantom pain?” He asked after a bit.

“It’s _quite_ distinct from that, I assure you.” Malfoy sounded as if this was obvious.

“Okay.”   
Harry wasn’t sure whether to write that down.   
“…is that why you want to go to Azkaban?”

There was a beat of silence before he responded. “ _Do_ your _job_.”

Well, at least Malfoy’s insistence on _that_ made more sense now.

Harry wrote   
_‘Detects manifestations that I can’t detect.’_

He considered it, then added  
 _‘OR ‘too affected’ by war.’_

Was there a difference? 

Harry thought for a bit.

If the Mark did act up in certain circumstances… and Narcissa thought it was like Residue somehow… 

He was about to lean his elbow on the desk when he remembered the glass and thought better of it.   
He didn’t know whether it’d take his arm off. 

….wait a second.  
“So you’re like a living Manifestation?”

Malfoy responded tonelessly.  
“Just another node in the sludge web.” 


	8. Uncomfortable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Mention of unwanted voyeur from previous chapter. It’s marked with an exclamation mark.**

_Dark Mark is harnessed Residue(?), burns when ‘strays from norm’, NOT phantom pain._  
_Malfoy is Living Manifestation (L.M.). (?)_  
_& Detects manifestations that I can’t detect. OR too affected by war. (?)_

_leather chair manif’s Greyback ogling. PURE._  
_’bed jumping’ manif’s Bellatrix, sometimes her voice ( & smell) “as if she’s here”. PURE._  
_Uncertain whether chair & bed manif’t without L.M. present._

Harry turned to his _other_ FieldScroll and tried to log what Malfoy’d cast. 

The ink disappeared as quickly as he’d put it down.

Oh, right. 

The Invigoration Draught may have woken him up, it hadn’t made him think any clearer.   
Why did he always expect that it would?

He shoved the little bullshit quill into its Fieldscroll lid, then picked one _that looked exactly the same_ out of its own wooden prison.

Precautions against tampering were great and all, but this was a _huge_ pain in the arse.

Malfoy had lowered the vial he’d hovered towards himself out of sight for a bit. Then he placed it on the opposite edge of the tub.   
It looked opalescent against the glamour.

When Harry could finally log the Hovering charm, Malfoy spoke in his bored mocking drawl.   
“There is nothing quite as reassuring as the sound of your exasperated ineptitude.” 

Considering what they had been talking about, this was _so_ unexpected that Harry didn’t quite register what he meant.  
“What?” 

“Your huffing and fiddling, Potter. I’m not deaf.”

“Well…” Harry started, trying to write quickly.  
“…I’m just doing my job,” he continued when he’d finished the entry. 

Malfoy didn’t speak and instead did something else log-worthy. 

_25.11.1998, approx. 02:15 - Charge Hovered glass jar towards self_  
It was the blue balm Narcissa’d brought him before.   
He opened it by hand, reached in, and then his arm sank out of sight again.

It seemed best to keep the conversation going, however lamely, since their previous topic hadn’t exactly reassured Harry about Malfoy’s sense of self-preservation.   
“Is that the stuff you use for your arm?” He asked.   
  
The response sounded serious.   
“No, I’m considering it for decoration.”

Okay, no more ‘genuine cooperation’ then.   
  
Harry puffed his cheeks and sighed, looking around the room for topic inspiration. His gaze caught the wet patch where the ‘beverage’ had splattered. A bit of mint had stuck, probably jammed in place by a shard of glass. 

He was about to clean it when he realised that the wall might not be exempt from Residue.   
Malfoy may have cast _Scourgify_ on the drawing room floor, but… it was best to be safe. 

Manifestations could change in unpredictable ways when they were affected, either magically or non-magically. 

Hang on…  
Malfoy was taking potions… _those_ were magical. 

Harry’d not read as much as a _footnote_ about Dark Residue manifesting in anything alive, apart from that plants generally _died_ in it.   
There was no way of knowing what it might do.

…and the way Narcissa had responded when Malfoy had taken the bottle of Vertigone, she might have thought the same thing.

The balm was probably all right since she’d given it to him, but…

“What did you take just now?” Harry demanded, ”From the vial?”

“Are you my Healer?” Malfoy asked haughtily. 

“No, but I might be your mortician.” 

There was a beat of silence before the response came.  
Malfoy sounded insufferably like his father: “… _very_ poor taste. Would you like to try again?”

Harry used his Auror tone. “What’s in the vial?” 

Malfoy’s head rose into view and his eyes seemed piercing, even through the glamour.  
“…you don’t think the ‘poison’ that my Mother might have _accidentally_ served you was really meant for _me_ , do you?”

“No, Malfoy, I think that if you _are_ part Manifestation, then taking _anything_ might fuck you up.”

A manic echoey guffaw burst from the bath as Malfoy sank out of sight again.

Now Harry’d been so explicitly reminded of Bellatrix’s existence, Malfoy’s madness struck him as eerily similar.   
They _were_ related, after all…

A shiver ran down his neck.

“So you _are_ trying to assess the degree of relative fucked-ness?” Malfoy sounded genuinely amused, “Oh wonderful, yes, _splendid_!” 

Some water sloshed and Harry could see his hand make some gesture as if to indicate for something to proceed, somehow while twirling his wand.   
“No — I take my potions all willy-nilly these days, stir them together and then down them by the gallon.”  
He chuckled. 

Absolutely mental.

“Because my Mother, you see, my Mother spends all her resources brewing _ill-advised goop_ for me. She’s _bored_ , you know. Nothing for her to do here — it’s not like she could use her time more wisely trying to find _employment_ of some kind.” Some venom had crept into his tone, though he’d sounded upbeat.   
”No, no, no… ” he trailed off, almost singsong. 

_Deescalation Tactics_ had covered how to snap people back to attention, but Malfoy didn’t seem to be escalating. It was as if he had _already_ escalated and had then levelled with the madness. Snapping him out of it might make him all toneless and flat again. 

Harry wasn’t sure whether that would be an improvement, so he decided against it for now.  
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”   
He tried to sound ‘normal’, whatever that was. 

“No.” Malfoy said firmly, all bullshit gone. “You monitor _me_ and you Assess the _Residue_. Get. it. _right_.”

Harry stroked his hands over his face, still trying to stop his eyes from stinging. “But you said you _are_ -...” 

“I only _told_ you because if you’re even _half_ competent, you would have found out eventually.” Malfoy interrupted him with a huffy snarl.   
The smell of the after-rain spread through the room as he added through his teeth: “Though judging from how you’ve been doing, it might have taken you a _decade_.” 

The Invigoration Draught made Harry’s brain feel dry, somehow.   
Dry and shaky.   
He polished his glasses on his robe and was surprised that his hands weren’t trembling.   
“So I should ignore that you’re literally everything I’m supposed to do here?” He asked.

That sentence didn’t sit right with him, but then again - it was _true_ , wasn’t it? 

Monitor two ways, Assess, and then Curse Break… Yeah, it checked out.

  
Malfoy sounded like he was grinning. “Now now, work up to it. You’re not getting your hands on _me_ until I know you’re competent.”

Harry felt his face flush.   
Malfoy’d phrased that in the worst possible way - was he being insufferable for the sake of it? 

_Interrogation Tactics_ piped up in his head: This was probably his way of regaining control in a situation where he had none.   
Making Harry uncomfortable was one of the things he _could_ still do, after all. 

…it was as if Malfoy had suddenly become transparent, and Harry could see all the icky bits.

He’d never thought he’d wish to undo some insight that he’d gotten from his training, yet here he was. 

He looked away from the bathroom and instead focused on his knee.

Though… it was surprising that a bigot like _Malfoy_ would be okay with even _implied_ homosexuality, regardless of context.

Then again, he had gotten along _really_ well with a certain colleague of his…

Harry decided to pursue this, even if only for entertainment. “What, like Johnny?” 

“Hm?”  
_That_ sounded _desperately_ casual.

Oh shit, Harry was onto something, wasn’t he?

…and Malfoy _had_ told him to bite back…

“Competent hands? Like Johnny’s?” Harry grinned. “Got a thing for older foreign guys, Malfoy?”

A beat of silence, a huff, and then the scandalised response. ” _Ridiculous_ suggestion.”

Harry chuckled. “Then why do you sound so caught?”

The invisible weight shifted in the Chair between them.   
Harry also sensed movement near the sofa, but nothing special was visible there.

He cast the Tempus charm, then got his _other_ quill and FieldScroll out and logged the Manifestation.   
“Is it responding to anything?” He asked.

Silence.

Harry switched to Auror tone. “Malfoy; the chair. Does it only Manifest _reactively_?” 

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Hm…” 

That _might_ have been affirmative.  
And considering the topic of conversation and the Purity of this Manifestation, the implications were _uncomfortable_. 

“I need to know this in order to Break it, so you’ve got to work with me here. Is it —...?”

“ _Yes_.” Malfoy cut in. “ _Yes_ , it’s reactive.” 

The chair-weight shifted again.

“He’d —…” Malfoy sighed deeply, apparently bolstering himself. “He’s a _werewolf_ , Potter. Surely you _know_.” There was a beat of silence. ”They smell…”   
He trailed off, then continued steadily. “…the _flavours of discomfort_.” 

Okay, gross way to put it.

Harry knew that werewolves could smell neurotransmitters and hormones, which was why they were more prone to attacking those who feared them.   
He just hadn’t expected _that_ to come up in the context of their conversation.

Well, at least he was sure that he’d _really_ been onto something with his questioning.

 _Fuck’s sake; be_ professional.

Harry noted his findings of the Manifestation and wondered what was best: Learn about a known werewolf who used to ogle Malf— _his charge_ as soon as possible, or start proper Assessment on something that wasn’t as traumatic.

In Death Manor.

 **!** …and leave the echoes of a known paedophile to torment him another day.

Yeah, no, his mind was made up.  
“If it is a Pure reactive Manifestation, I’m going to need details.” Harry made sure to use his Auror tone.   
“You know how to extract memories?”

Malfoy huffed in annoyance. 

Harry decided to take it as an affirmative.   
“I’m _just_ checking, don’t know whether it’s a ‘special Auror school’ thing,” He sighed. “You can hand the Memory to me, or you can give it to Tristan later — my partner. He’ll be here at ten by the way. So…”  
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, then we’ll go from there.”

“… you will _personally_ be seeing to it?” Somehow the tone Malfoy’d used had sounded both reassured and condescending.   
As if he’d hired the very best and still didn’t trust it. 

(Harry allowed himself to think that that was true enough… for half a second. Then he realised again that he’d _never done this before_.)

And anyway, how could Malfoy even ask that after making such a fuss about Harry ‘doing his job’? 

“Yeah, obviously.” Harry said.

“What about your partner?”

 _What about him?_  
  
The conversation they’d had about it yesterday — or the day before, technically - had been brief.

They’d been at the Auror headquarters, and Tristan had been sorting ‘intel’ about Project Purge when Harry’d asked him about it.   
He’d hardly looked at Harry as he’d been going through the mess of scrolls they’d gathered. “ _I’ll strategize and fight and chase ‘em around the_ globe, _you know that. But I’m not_ Cleanin’,” He’d grinned.  
“ _I rather keep it dirty._ ”

Harry’d been reading _Manifestation Management_ at the time. “ _But you’re fine with ‘babysitting’?_ ”

“ _He’s your age right?_ ” Tristan’d sounded amused and Harry’d nodded. ” _Then I’ll be okay._ ”

" _He’s a dick though,_ ” Harry’d mentioned it casually, not presenting it as an argument of any kind. It was only fair to warn him.

“… _I_ assure _you Harry, I’m not worried._ ”  
And that had been that. 

So Harry said: “He’ll stick to monitoring, but he’ll hand over a vial if needed.”

Malfoy remained quiet.

Oh yeah, he hadn’t _met_ Tristan, had he? 

“…he’s not like Quiesko, you know.”

“And what is _he_ like?”  
Good question, considering they probably had very different experiences with him.

Harry was about to respond that Quiesko’d had a lot to say about him behind his back, but… he himself had called Malfoy a dick to Tristan the other day. _And_ to Johnny, within a minute of meeting him. 

Harry hadn’t gone off the way Quiesko’d done _and_ he’d had his reasons, but… what if Quiesko did too?

Also, speaking badly about another Auror _to a charge_ was unacceptable. Especially if Quiesko’d just exaggerated because he was venting, and he’d been _fine_ while he was here.

…fuck.

Harry decided to keep it vague. “I just didn’t think you’d get on.”

“Because ‘he’s a professional’?” His tone was indecipherable.

And Harry _wasn’t_?   
“What do you mean?”

“He tried to convince himself of it every other sentence.”

With a charge like Malfoy, Harry could understand that. He’d been doing that quite a bit himself, though he hadn’t reached the point where he needed to say it out loud.   
_Yet_.  
It was comforting to know that even fully qualified Aurors apparently needed to remind themselves, sometimes.

Harry reckoned this was as good a moment as _any_ to give that whole interrogation-business another go.   
“Is that why you ‘brandished a knife’ at him?”   
He adjusted his glasses. 

“No, Potter.” Malfoy said seriously after a moment of silence. “I was having supper when your ever-so-competent colleague remarked that I wasn’t using my _cutlery_ properly.” 

Harry was amused by the thought of Quiesko explaining to a petulant Malfoy how to use the twenty or so spoons on either side of his plate.  
  
…and then he remembered that Malfoy had only one arm.

 _Oh_.

Malfoy continued.   
“He informed me that there _is_ a right way.”   
A pause.   
“That he’d ‘looked it up’, because he’d wondered why ‘ _British_ high society’ didn’t seem to care about _standards_.”

Harry could hear him seethe and wouldn’t be surprised if the bath was boiling at this point.

“And _then_ …” The tone Malfoy used reminded Harry of professor Trelawney. 

As if he’d departed from reality and had reached ‘higher spheres’ of some kind. 

“ _Then_ he suddenly ‘remembered’ that we were _not_ , anymore.” 

He took a deep breath and somehow sounded _more_ mental when he continued. “ _Ever_ so sorry, _genuine_ mistake, no _offence_.”

He took another deep breath and exhaled unsteadily.

Harry’d expected him to go on, but he did no such thing. 

Malfoy’s mental-ness was not something he knew how to estimate.  
So…   
Might as well try again, and see what happens…  
“…is _that_ when you brand—…”

“I was _having_. _supper_.” Malfoy snapped. “At _some_ point I _might_ have held a knife.”   
He’d apparently been dropped off the Happy-Go-Lucky spheres he’d hovered off to.   
“ _Held_ it. I didn’t do a _thing_ — ”

Hearing him proclaim innocence in genuine outrage was so bizarre that Harry only _just_ managed not to chuckle.

Some sound might have escaped him though, and that’s when Malfoy’d interrupted himself.  
When he spoke again he sounded haughty.   
“Who do you think I am?”

“Huh?” Harry responded, trying to will the grin off his face. 

“Do you honestly think I would use a _knife_ when I have my _wand_?” 

Okay, he wasn’t mad at the suggestion of attacking an Auror, no; he had a problem with the suggestion that he might not have done so _magically_.

Fucking _Malfoy_.

Harry shrugged. “People do unreasonable things in the heat of the moment.” 

“Right.” Malfoy snapped. “You think the moment became _so_ heated that I would attack _an Auror_ with _a knife._ ”

Harry grinned. He kind of wanted to see him try.  
“You missed your chance I’m afraid, it was his last shift here.”   
Knowing that Quiesko wouldn’t return _had_ to be a relief.

“I didn’t know that at the time.” Malfoy spat.

“You didn’t?”

“ _Of course_ not. Nor did I know when your partner would be here until you _just_ told me.”

Harry decided that now Malfoy was all warmed up — fuming, in fact — it might be a good time to learn some more.  
(Also, the leather chair had made another shifting sound, and he hoped talking over it would make sure they wouldn’t be forced to think about Greyback. There was nothing to be done until he knew the details anyway, however uncomfortable the thought made him.)

“Okay, so then why did you think it was a good idea to rant about the greatness of Death Eaters?”

“I _didn’t_.”   
Malfoy’d said it through his teeth _so_ fiercely that Harry wondered whether some enamel might have chipped off.  
“It’s just that your boy ‘Zachary’ practises _creative observation_.”

Quiesko was older than they were. Calling him ‘boy’ to his face would _definitely_ have fuelled the animosity between them.   
If Malfoy’d made a habit of speaking like that, it was no wonder that Quiesko’d been a dick about his arm.

Harry pressed on.   
“Defending Death Eaters though? Really?” 

Malfoy didn’t immediately respond so Harry got up the right part of his FieldScroll and quoted: “Three thirty-five yesterday morning; ‘charge defends death eaters’, two minutes later; ‘charge defends war crimes, uses inflammatory language’, and then — “

“I was _defending_ my _Father_.” 

Harry’d thought Malfoy might have gone mental at the time or something, maybe even forgotten about it.   
He hadn’t expected an answer like this. 

“ _Ask_ me what he _said_ , Potter.”

  
“…what did Quiesko say?”  
Being an insensitive dick to someone who was a condescending dickhead was one thing, but Harry was starting to think that this might have been something else.

  
“He said that if we weren’t going to engrave his headstone, we might as well… ‘ _chuck him in a flowerbed to liven the place up_ ’.”   
The venom in his voice made the air feel like acid.

If Malfoy were anyone else, he could file a complaint about this, maybe even sue.   
But considering that he was who he was, Quiesko would probably get a fucking bonus.

Then again… Malfoy could of course be lying.

…

But… would he _really_ choose to say something _this_ horrible about his Father? He’d basically worshipped him.

When Malfoy continued he sounded ‘flat’ again.   
“I might have lost my tempter a little.” 

It was as if he’d surpassed all fury and had come out at the other end. 

Uncharted territory.

_Be professional._

“That’s provocation.” Harry said, not sure what else to say. 

“Is it? _I_ thought he was applying for a gardening position." Malfoy sounded lighthearted.   
Some water sloshed and that smell wafted over. “How silly of me…” He added in a sigh.

Did Malfoy have control over these mood shifts? Or did they have something to do with being a living manifestation?

“Tristan isn’t like that.” Harry said.  
And although neither of them were _Johnny_ , at least the contrast between the Aurors watching Malfoy wouldn’t be as big.   
Come to think of it - Harry didn’t actually know whether Tristan wanted to be on first name basis with a charge. 

Oh well, too late now.

A hand raised over the edge of the bath, picked up the vial, and lowered it out of sight.  
When it was returned a few seconds later, it was difficult to see whether anything had been taken out. 

Whatever it was, at least he wasn’t guzzling it down.

…if he was ingesting it _at all_.  
“That’s not your after-rain soap stuff, is it?”

“No, this isn’t ‘essence of petrichor’.“   
Malfoy’d emphasised it without sounding condescending _or_ mental. 

_Impressive._

“…it’s Draught of Peace.” He finished flatly, then continued with a tone that seemed flirtatious. ”And don’t you worry, mister Healer…”

 _Flirtatious_ Malfoy.   
This might be the most disturbing thing Harry’d ever encountered.

Malfoy seemed to think so himself as well, because he sighed and then said without _any_ intonation. ”I take as little as I can.” 

“Okay.” Harry said. 

  
_25.11.1998, 02:37 - Charge cast drying charm_  
_25.11.1998, 02:27 - Charge Hovered bandage towards self_  
_25.11.1998, 02:37 - Charge cast sticking charm_  
_25.11.1998, 02:38 - Charge cast sticking charm_  
_25.11.1998, 02:38 - Hovered towel towards self_  
_25.11.1998, 02:39 - Charge cast sticking charm_  
_25.11.1998, 02:40 - Charge cast sticking charm_

Malfoy had started to apply a bandage but hadn’t succeeded, so he’d gotten a towel around his waist and walked towards the mirror.  
As he’d gone out of the bath and out of sight, Harry’d seen that the stump was mostly black. Because the glamour had extended beyond his line of sight, he hadn’t been able to distinguish details. 

He had also been disturbed once more by how skinny Malfoy was. 

Was he eating _at all_? 

When Malfoy’d come back out of the bathroom, he’d been wearing a long white T-shirt-like garment again. Harry couldn’t tell whether it was the same one as before. 

Without acknowledging Harry in any way, Malfoy got into bed, trailing fucking ‘essence of petrichor’ as he passed. 

The moment Malfoy lay down, Harry _felt_ the presence of something standing on the bed, but nothing was visible when he looked. There also seemed to be someone walking _right_ by him, yet there was nothing to see.

Fuck, this was _unnerving_.

Malfoy rolled to face away from Harry and froze. Then he rolled back on his back, a green tint on his white face.

He’d rolled onto his stump.

Harry focused on his FieldScroll to dot his ‘i’s with extra care.

There was the sensation of movement, of a figure crouching on the bed and _over_ Malfoy, making indentations on either side of him.   
Likewise, there was a figure near and almost _through_ Harry, tall and excited and _eager_. 

_instinct_

_ready to pounce_

It reminded Harry far too much of sensing Nagini, and he rolled the chair as far away from it as he could.

His heart pounded in his throat.  
“Just Residue, yeah?” He asked tensely, mostly to help himself snap out of the sensation.

Malfoy ignored him, silently cast _Silencio_ on himself and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t turn off the light.


	9. Romeo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Mention of the canonical bathroom scene - it is exclamation marked.**

Tristan Floo’d in and smiled the moment he caught Harry’s eye.   
He had short black hair, was tall, fit, and he’d turned 32 at the end of October. 

Harry remembered because that day in the field together had involved _cake_. 

He currently wore jeans and a green sweater. These complemented his dark skin _and_ made him look like a Slytherin. Was that a coincidence, or was he making a good first impression? 

Either way, _Johnny_ had been dressed casually, too. 

_Why_ had Harry decided to wear Auror robes?

“Mornin’ Harry,” Tristan said far too happily.

“Morning,” Harry said groggily, feeling the night cloud his head. The buzz he felt left little place for thoughts.

“Excited to see me?” Tristan grinned.

“Huh?”

“You’re shakin’. You okay?” 

“Oh… Yeah I’m all right. Invigoration Draught.”  
He’d needed a second dose, as the Manifestations haunting the periphery of his sight had made him feel too exposed to risk dozing off.   
He’d tried to read something off of Malfoy’s shelf, but the only things in English had been schoolbooks and a fancy copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. 

Who put silverwork on a fucking children’s book?

So he’d sat there, restless, reliving his sixth year homework while Malfoy slept, and the Residue around them echoed darkness of the past.  
It had _sucked_. 

“How’s the last death eater? Still legal?” Tristan asked, amused.   
His drunk-sounding Maine accent had taken some time to get used to, and hearing terms like ‘death eater’ said like that still caught Harry off guard sometimes.

“Yeah, I guess… ” Harry trailed off, trying to think. “No real trouble.”  
He got out the FieldScroll and handed it over as he stifled a yawn.  
“How was Quiesko?”

“Chatty until d’Errico showed up,” Tristan passed him as he entered the entrance hall properly, placing his hands on his hips. “Phew, this place is _Dark_.” He looked up and scrunched up his face, as if assessing the ceiling for water damage or something.   
“Got anythin’ done?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “Didn’t even get the _tour_ yet.”   
Fuck, he should have asked Malfoy for _that_ , instead of letting him play his stupid piano as soon as he got downstairs.  
He hadn’t had breakfast, though his mum would probably see to that when she ——… 

_No_. 

He was _not_ a fucking babysitter. 

Harry decided to casually mention it anyway. “He hasn’t eaten… and he should be giving you a memory later, to pass on to me.”   
Because he had been incapable of gathering it himself.

_Monitoring shift one: Wasted._

“Okay Mary Poppins. Where d’you put him?”

“Huh?”

“…where is the charge?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”  
Annoyed at himself, Harry started towards ‘the drawing room’. The music coming from it was faintly familiar.

They’d only been downstairs for about half an hour — Malfoy’d woken up of his own accord and taken ages to dress in the bathroom. Since then there’d been nothing but the bloody piano. 

_’nowhere to be in the morning’_

The only interaction they’d had was when he’d answered Harry’s ‘good morning’ with an upwards nod that’d been more like an eyeroll. It hadn’t seemed _as_ vicious as he’d probably intended, considering how sleepy he’d looked. 

  
Tristan snort-chuckled. “You British with your sorries… I haven’t heard a wild ‘cheerio’ yet.” He considered for a moment. “Maybe today’s the day.”

Harry chuckled. “If you get Malfoy to say that, _do_ log it.”

“I’ll have him say so much shit I’m gonna need a Quick Quotes Quill.”

Harry grinned, then decided to get to business.   
“There’s Residue _everywhere_ so you’ll want to be careful — and the floor in the drawing room is unstable. I walked on the walls yesterday.”

Tristan looked at him incredulously. “You what?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great.” Harry said, a little wryly.   
Maybe _that_ would have been a better first Assessment task than the damn chair. It’d be less personal, and it’d give him a chance to learn. Also, if he’d fuck up and the Manifestation got _worse_ , they could always avoid the room entirely. 

…but then the ogle-chair would have to wait.

Then again, if he’d fuck _that_ up, he’d be forcing Malfoy out of his bedroom with a burning Phantom Mark.

…but did he really want to tell Malfoy that he was going to start not only _later_ , but _somewhere else_? He didn’t particularly look forward to that conversation… 

…so he wasn’t going to have it. 

He’d dealt with Voldemort, he could take a _chair_. 

It’d be fine.

The door was ajar, as it had been yesterday - was it kept like that for a reason?   
Harry pulled it open.

“Hey Malfoy?” He asked, careful not to step over the threshold. “My relief is here.” 

The music stopped abruptly.   
Harry hadn’t expected to have a heart to heart in Italian, but Malfoy would have been allowed to finish his stupid tune.   
_Fucking drama queen._

He’d stood up from the bench and turned, raising his head as if to _perform_ looking down on the Aurors who _dared_ to do their jobs.   
It was still weird to see his arm end and the neatly closed sleeve didn’t help. 

Harry was also struck again by his gauntness and the dark little veins.   
He peered up at Tristan, who seemed unbothered. He’d of course not seen him before… must be weird, to have this mess as a first impression.

A smile broke on Tristan’s face and he looked down.   
“Is the floor gonna allow me to approach?”

Malfoy nodded a single time and Tristan entered — jovial, but with an air of professionalism.

“How are you; I’m Tristan, I’ll be monitorin’ you today,” He offered his hand to shake and Harry held his breath. 

Malfoy shook it.  
“Draco. Pleased to meet you.” 

The hand shaking paused.   
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tristan said seriously.

…Harry hadn’t said that at all, had he?

“...thank you.” Malfoy responded, fully composed.  
They released each other.

“Anythin’ planned for today?” Tristan asked.   
As if they were equals.

“No, we shall remain in the manor. My Mother might be absent for a while, but I believe that her errands do not concern you.”  
Malfoy sounded as if all this was entirely normal - though to some extent it _was_ , for him. 

As if he was informing staff. 

Tristan smiled. “My only concern is you.”

It was weird to see Tristan treat Malfoy like… well, like how he treated everyone. Then again, why _would_ Malfoy get special treatment? 

Malfoy inclined his head sideways, his face carrying an unreadable expression.

Tristan continued more seriously. “If you have any ‘grievances’ to air, don’t hesitate to inform me. Okay?”   
As if this was a business-meeting. 

Malfoy nodded.

“Is your mother around?” Tristan asked, “She owns the roof I’m under and I’ve got manners enough to say hello.”

…and Harry _didn’t_ , apparently.  
He hadn’t considered to say a _word_ to her until he’d triggered a Manifestation escalation, and then _she’d_ spoken to _him_.

Fuck, Malfoy was going to talk shit about him the moment he’d left, wasn’t he?

Harry knew protocol when it came to introductions to a charge, but then again, they fucking _knew_ each other.   
What _should_ he have done? 

_Be professional_.

But how?

His eyes stung, his head buzzed and was bolstered against thoughts, and he didn’t fucking know anymore.

“I am afraid she is currently occupied… But you will have the opportunity to meet her later.”  
Malfoy’d said it without being a dick. 

Did _everyone_ just get along with him apart from Harry?

Or - everyone _decent_ , at least?

Fucking _probably_.

“Okay, thanks.” Tristan said, ”I gotta speak to Harry for a bit — can I ask you to play somethin’ until I get back?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Any requests?”   
There was a hint of snide in his tone but Tristan ignored it.

“Do you do jazz?”

Malfoy’s face flipped from politely serious to _crazy_ amused, but then melted back to normal.   
Like a retreating sneeze.  
“My chords are rather _deficient_ … I wouldn’t want to offend the art.”

“Then play whatever suits you — I’ve never disliked a skillful sound.”

Malfoy paused a beat, nodded gracefully, and then did as he’d been asked.

Tristan turned back to Harry and winked at him.   
_The Malfoy Whisperer_ ’d probably gotten some pointers from _Johnny_.

The music escorting them as they walked back to the Floo sounded happier than what Harry’d heard earlier — or rather, more _energetic_. 

“...he’s actually playing jazz?” Harry asked.

Tristan laughed a bit. “Ayuh, this is a classic. Bit weird without the chords but… whaddya do. If I get bored starin’ ahead, I might help him out.”

“You can’t touch the piano,” Harry said mock-gravely. “It’s holy or something.”

“I heard, but my charm can be _disarmin’_.” 

Harry remembered the exchange about ‘foreign guys’ he’d had with Malfoy and stifled a snort. 

Tristan smiled at him.   
“Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I’ll be back here at…” Harry cast a Tempus charm. “...ten?”

Tristan sighed as if he was giving in to something.

Harry looked at him, awaiting confirmation, his brain buzzing.

“You’re gonna be doin’ all the work,” Tristan said, “There’s no need to do it at night, too.”

“Huh?”

“You carried a war _and_ you got a girl at home, while I’m basically on vacation,” He shrugged, “Lettin’ you clean Dark Shit all night while I’m playin’ sunshine nanny ain’t fair.”

“Yeah… I suppose not.” Harry hadn’t considered that. He’d figured that since this had been his idea, he’d be the one to take the shitty shifts. ”What do you suggest?”

”How ‘bout this: You go home and make sure your girl remembers how to scream your name, and I’ll see you here at 0800.”

“That’s…” Harry had to pause to count “…twenty-two hours from now.”   
Fuck, that it took him _that_ long to figure out was _telling_.   
Why hadn’t he even _considered_ sleeping before coming here? 

_Sheer incompetence_. 

He’d just read about Manifestations.   
_…and still got screwed by two of them._

“Relax, I won’t be workin’ hard.” Tristan grinned. “Water daily and keep out of direct sunlight, right?” 

Harry nodded and pressed his lips together. “ …don’t underestimate it. I fought a _floor_ , remember? _And_ I spent three hours in a tunnel at some point.”

“Ayuh, I’m not you.” Tristan shrugged.

“Fair enough…” Harry sighed, gratitude buzzing through the fog in his head. “Thanks. But we take twelve hours each from then on, yeah?”

“Dude. Go home.”

“But — … ”

“Ginny’s calling,” Tristan cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned towards the fireplace.

“But — …”

“Harry _yy_ ~! ” Tristan wailed in a mock-high voice.

“No, we’ve got to — …”

“Harry _yy_ ~ the night was _cooollld_ without you~!” The shrillness didn’t help the hideous British accent.

“ _Fine!_ ” Harry grinned, face burning. “Fuck off, though.”

“No, _you_ fuck off.” Tristan clapped him on the shoulder. “And save me from a floor at 0800.”

* * *

The Floo startled Harry awake, but he relaxed when he realised he was in the kitchen at Grimmauld.  
He cast a Tempus charm and put on his glasses to read it.

19:43. 

It felt like five in the morning.

Ginny entered and without a word placed an enormous baking dish on the table.   
Only a quarter of its contents remained, but it’d be plenty to sustain them both for _days_.   
The bottom layer was mince meat smothered with pasta, sauce and vegetables, topped with a cheesy crust that looked _divine_.

His stomach informed him that he could finish this by himself in about ten minutes.

He’d not eaten anything since the bloody field snacks at midnight.

She summoned dishes and cutlery for them both and sat down opposite him.  
”Your breakfast sir,” she said, as she shoved his books aside and served them. 

He yawned and stretched. “Sorry.” He said as he blearily picked up a fork. “What’s the occasion?”

“Dinner?” she grinned and gave him a look.  
A persistent little thought crawled to the forefront of his mind and as it breached the lingering haze of sleep, he remembered Molly asking him whether he’d be joining them.

…at 19:00.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, I— … ”

“…— have caught up on sleep.” She smiled. “Eat up.”

  
“I’m sorry though,” Harry said, feeling his face burn. “Should I go over? I should go over and apologise.”

“Nah, we all know you prefer Malfoy over us so it’s too late,” she said casually before taking a bite.

“…okay. Fuck.” Shame and guilt were gnawing at him and he stabbed his fork into his food, feeling horrible.   
The Weasleys meant the world to him, and he’d stood them up like that? 

He was such a twat. 

“Go on,” She gestured with her fork, “It won’t be as good if it’s reheated.”  
Harry reluctantly started and wanted to say something else, but the sheer divinity of the flavour wiped his thoughts away.

Ginny looked at him and then focused on the contents of her fork. “One day you’ll look at me the way you look at mum’s cooking.” 

“Oi! I look at you -… _better_.” 

_Well done, Romeo._

He stifled a yawn with his mouth full. “…and how did you know I was here anyway? I could have been out.”

“I came in an hour ago and we made eye contact,” Something sparkled in her eyes.

He vaguely remembered seeing her, but he thought it’d been a dream.

“… and then you drooled on your book and rested your head in it.”   
She shrugged and focused on her plate.

He choked on his food.

“It was _hot_ ,” she added mischievously.   
  
When he could breathe again, he flung a singular bit of pasta at her.

“Hey!” She picked it from her hair, placed it on his plate and swapped it for some of the golden brown cheese. “I only accept the crunchy bits.” 

She winked at him as she ate it, he grinned, and everything was great.  
 _Comfortable_.   
Even the room felt ‘warmer’ somehow.

Was that the familial Residue of the house being reactivated?

“How was today?” She asked.

“Yeah, all right.”   
He was reminded of the Greyback chair and a shudder went down his spine. 

She looked at him.

“When I got off I first went to headquarters for some paperwork…” He didn’t mention he’d also attended _Method in the Mad-Eye_ , as he’d been there, anyway. “I’ll probably get to close a missing person’s case.”

Her fork froze half-way to her mouth as she gaped at him. “…there was a body?“

Harry shook his head.   
“No… A Manifestation and half an unofficial witness statement… I need to get details, still, but… I think I know what happened to professor Burbage.” He took another bite. 

She lowered her fork.

He continued with his mouth full. “… _and_ I walked in a tunnel for a few hours.”

She didn’t respond. 

“And… Malfoy plays piano, apparently?” He shrugged. “He’s got two of them…” He considered, “That I’ve _seen_.” 

The gleam in her eyes lit a spark in his abdomen.   
“…You’re really beautif-…” 

Her glare killed the word in his mouth.

“It was a bad idea.” She put her fork down. 

Harry knew immediately that she was talking about the monitoring duty. She’d thought he’d been joking when he’d first told her.  
He shrugged. “It’s better than playing Spot the Death Eater.”

“No it’s not.”

He was taken aback. “Why not?” 

“You’re fresh off a war and —”

“Aren’t we all?”

“- and it’s like you want to _get back in_.” She was vehement but didn’t seem angry.

“… I _don’t_.” He felt petulant and held her gaze when she glared at him.

“Why did you take this job?” She asked.

“I told you, it’s an opportu —… ”

“No,” she interrupted him. “Why did you _really_ take it?”

He’d unknowingly grasped his fork in his fist like a weapon — he hadn’t pointed it at her, but he adjusted his grip and hoped she hadn’t noticed.  
“…not to continue a fucking war.” He mumbled at his plate.

“Then _why_?” She was searching his face for something and it made him uncomfortable.   
“Why did you take it?” she asked again.

The memory of Malfoy bleeding on the bathroom floor resurfaced. 

**!** His mind helpfully cut off one of his arms. 

**!** _Blood_ everywhere.

“Fuck’s sake Gin, you didn’t make this big a deal of it _before._ ”

She looked miffed. “I stupidly thought there’d be no dead people involved, okay? Now answer the bloody question.”

“…I nearly killed him, remember?”

“You saved him from burning _AND_ from Azkaban. I’m _pretty_ sure you’ve made up for it.”

Harry’s mind blanked. 

It took him a few moments to regain his ability to think.  
“I… overheard a conversation at headquarters…”

She stared into his eyes.

“…one of the Aurors monitoring him was talking about him as if…” He thought for a moment. “...as if he was filth. As if he should be dead.”

She pressed her lips together but said nothing.   
He was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking. 

“I heard him — Malfoy, I mean, on the astronomy tower… He signed up to save himself. And now he’s — …”

“He’s not your problem.“ She said it matter-of-factly and stabbed an innocent noodle with her fork.   
  
Harry was about to speak but she shushed him by pointing the aforementioned cutlery at him.

Was this ‘brandishing’?

“Or he _wasn’t_ , until you _made_ him your problem.” She marked her words with stabs in the air.

It was becoming a little threatening, now.

“I’ve seen him, he’s _really_ fucked up.” Harry wasn’t sure why he’d said it pleadingly. 

Fuck, he’d just woken up, couldn’t she have given him a few minutes to prepare?

_constant vigilance_

Playing Find the Corpse for months had cost him his edge.

“Okay; _how_ fucked up?” she asked.

Harry was silent for a moment, wondering if he was going to be worse at keeping personal details than the _Daily_ fucking _Prophet_. 

“Go on then,” she said and took another bite.

“He’s…”   
Harry thought of how to phrase it and was reminded of the black veins. “ _scarred_. Skin and bones. And the house is fucked… and of course his dad’s dead… and his mum’s been through the wringer…”

“Do you _hear_ yourself?” She asked incredulously.

“What?”

“He’s better off than some of _ours_!”

He bristled but his mind went blank and he took another bite.  
His temper mellowed — it was hard to be mad while having food _this_ good.

It wasn’t _comfortable_ here anymore, though.

They ate quietly for a few bites as the room became colder.

“…the Auror I overheard…” Harry started again after about a minute, “He seemed pretty sure Malfoy would top himself.”

“That’s _his_ business.”

He froze and stared at her. “ _Merlin_.”

Her shrug was like a statement, though she didn’t seem as vicious anymore.   
“Most of the Wizarding world agrees with him.”

“Look... — he was _raised into it_ , —…“ He sighed, exasperated. “I just want to help.”

“Why _him_?” She snapped.   
A tiny droplet of saliva had landed on his glasses but this was _not_ the moment to mention it.   
“He’s one of _them_ , if you _really_ want to help, focus on the kids who lost their parents to his dad!”

She made a good point, she really fucking did.   
Then again — who could help who they were related to?

“But…” He started, struggling to think -

“It’s _fucked_ , I know that, all right?”

\- to find a reason - 

“But… they _survived_. Like... ”

\- …did he really have _none_?

“Everyone can just… _Try_ to - … _move on_.” 

Where was he going with this?

_What the fuck was he doing?_

“…to… start over…“

_…but…_

“…it’s not _over_ for him.”

 _That_ was the little ‘click’ he’d been hoping for.   
He nodded, relieved that the thought had exposed itself in words.   
“Everyone who was on his side is _dead_. The world is _literally_ against him.” 

His Father was dead, his family name was ruined… Even his _body_ wasn’t the same.   
“He’s lost everything that made him… _him_ …” Harry gazed off for a moment. He hadn’t realised before he’d said it just how true it was.  
“He was _in my year_ , okay?”

_Can’t let someone die over being a dick._

She took a deep breath and held it, looking at her food. She didn’t seem as angry anymore, though.   
  
He placed his hand in the middle of the table. “Look, I just _got_ this placement and it’s _really_ good training, all right?” 

She exhaled as she glared from her plate to his hand, then looked him in the eyes.

“Besides, there’s more than just babysitting... The house _is_ full of Voldemort’s leftovers… if I’m gonna ’vanquish a dark lord’, the least I can do is clean up after myself.”

He shrugged in what he hoped was a disarming way.

When she took his hand, he realised how worried he’d been that she _wouldn’t_.

She looked into his eyes. “…you’re _sure_ you’re okay?”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly.   
“I’m fine.”


	10. Disability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: There is mention of ‘Branagh’s brother’ from chapter one at the beginning of this chapter. Near the end, there are some explicit gore-y details. Of course these are exclamation marked!**

When Harry had last been in the entrance hall by himself, he’d been annoyed with Malfoy.   
Now he didn’t yet know whether he had a reason to be, the enormity of the space made him feel exposed.

There were pillars, doors, and even tapestries on the walls, yet he felt like prey in an open field.

…or like a carcass, ready for scavengers.

 **!** The eyeless Death Eater and his Aberdonian seagulls came to mind. 

He shuddered as he made his way up the stairs, unsure whether he imagined the cloud of chalk-like dust when he placed his foot on the bottom step. 

The sun was tentatively brightening the high windows behind him, but it didn’t make the house feel any safer.  
Instead, it promised to uncover the dangers from their shadows.

Harry’d been trying to work out what had just happened.  
He’d been on duty for about ten minutes and he’d already fucked up. 

Of course _Tristan_ , with his years of experience, would _know_ whether a signalling charm would be safe to put on a charge, Residue or not. 

Harry really should have known better than to question that.   
It wasn’t his place. 

…and hadn’t Tristan mentioned at some point that he’d been in ‘med school’? 

There was no way he would have taken the situation as lightly as Harry had implied.

  
Harry really couldn’t help but jump to conclusions, could he?   
He should consider joining the fucking ballet.

Tristan hadn’t pulled rank, which maybe he _should_ have done. It might have shut Harry up sooner. 

…

  
…was he already questioning his competence _again_?

…it hadn’t been a single minute.

  
There had never been any kind of unpleasantness between them before, and Tristan _had_ seemed a bit off. 

In the time they’d worked together, he’d never been ‘off’ before. 

Granted, there hadn’t been any 22-hour shifts then either, but still. 

Had the house affected him? Or had Malfoy gotten to him?

Regardless, it was suspicious and uncomfortable and Harry didn’t like it. 

Also, what had Tristan meant with Malfoy ‘having an opinion’ about handing over the memory?   
Harry should have asked about _that_ instead of implying his superior’s incompetence.

_Monitoring shift two: great start._

  
He reached the landing and got out his FieldScroll. It was best to be updated before he faced his _charge_ again, and this hallway had a relatively low degree of fucked-ness.   
He should, of course, have been informed about any special events by Tristan… but Harry tried to put his mind off of that.   
There was no point in lingering. 

He made sure to continue walking as he read. 

_25.11.1998, 10:00 Shift transferred to T. Wheeler_  
_25.11.1998, 13:10-13:50 Charge hovered meal items_  
_25.11.1998, 22:15 Charge hovered clothing_  
_26.11.1998, 03:47 Charge attempted Patronus charm_  
_26.11.1998, 05:12 Charge hovered food_

…okay…

That Tristan’d summarised and categorised events was unusual, but fine.   
Fair enough.   
Harry trusted his judgement. 

He _did_. 

But - 

_Charge attempted Patronus charm_

…it _actually_ said that. 

Harry still had no idea how to estimate Malfoy’s madness, but he was clearly not doing so great.  
Not to mention that the log hadn’t mentioned the Patronus charm at all — would Malfoy have been able to cast one before?  
And why had it been noted if it had only been an _attempt_?

What had happened last night?

  
Next time he would read the bloody log while Tristan was still here.

  
…

…interrogating Malfoy had gone rather well last time. 

Harry looked forward to trying again.

He reached the bedroom door and knocked twice on the top panel. 

When Narcissa’d done this, she’d then said Malfoy’s first name.   
Harry decided against doing that. 

It would be weird. 

The inner-skin draft tugged at him again - it was more noticeable now he wasn’t distracted by the newness of the situation. No immediate response came from inside, so he opened the door. 

The energy was still frantic and dangerous, but there was another ‘shade’ to it. It was difficult to make out. Perhaps it, too, had been here before, and it only _seemed_ different.

As he looked towards the bed he could see the movement begin. It was exactly how it had been the other night — something invisible jumped around Malfoy, and the moment he moved to ‘get up’, Bellatrix said ‘good morning Draco’. 

There was a difference, though. 

Last time her voice had lashed around, energetic and violent. 

This time, it was a seductive whisper. 

Malfoy seemed _most_ uncomfortable. 

He leaned on his arm and glared up at Harry, his face flushed.   
It looked as if he was about to say something, but instead he sighed and lay back down.

“…I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry said as he went over to the desk chair. He really hadn’t - he stupidly hadn’t even considered that he might.

“Then why are you here?” Malfoy sounded slow and sleepy.   
No wonder, considering he’d ‘hovered food’ only three hours ago. 

Ah well, at least he’d eaten. 

“…to monitor you.” Harry answered as he sat down, a little relieved to have made it this far. 

Malfoy adjusted his position - he was laying on his side, on his good arm, facing Harry. “Your colleague did ehm… signalling charm,” He mumbled into his pillow.

Tristan had raised his voice about that, so it was a good thing that Malfoy mentioned it.   
Harry might have bloody _forgotten_ , otherwise.

 _Calm down._  
This wasn’t Malfoy’s fault.

Then again…   
Harry’d taken over the charm and Malfoy _was_ awake, so… 

“…why hasn’t it gone off?”

Malfoy sleepily unfolded himself to look at him. “You’re asking _me_?” 

Nearly everything in Harry’s line of sight was white - The blankets, the bed curtains, Malfoy’s sleepwear… but his face was still flushed, and the fold of a pillow was pressed into his cheek. That, combined with the long-suffering exasperation in his eyes, made the moment… _strange_.

It reminded Harry of the look Ginny had given him last night, when she’d interrupted their… _bedtime activities_ because she’d spotted the bruise on his back.

He felt the hair in his neck rise as he resisted rolling the chair away.  
Why had his mind gone _there_?

“He’s your colleague… not my responsibility…” Malfoy mumbled as he got comfortable again.

This was weird and horrible.

“Well,…- ” Harry racked his brain for words.   
Why was he saying _anything_? He should let the git sleep and get a drink or something.

He needed one.

No - he’d come here to _work_.   
“…you’re _literally_ my job, so if the signalling charm is fucked and Residue kills you while I’m having tea, I’ll…-“ 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 

“-…I’ll be _annoyed_. Okay?” 

“Oh, you’ll be a bit miffed, will you?” Malfoy croaked dryly before clearing his throat. “I’m moved to tears. Please withhold any other profound declarations.”   
He’d spoken tonelessly, then paused to blink.   
“The charm should signal you when I _leave_ the bed.”   
He briefly held Harry’s gaze in silence.   
“…which is _obvious_ , unless you wish to be notified of my every movement.”

“Fair enough,” Harry tried to relax. 

The charm was fine, it was _fine_ , Tristan was competent and Malfoy hadn’t offed himself.

Malfoy lay down, closed his eyes, ignored Harry entirely, and his breathing slowed within two minutes.

Staring —… or rather, _being present_ as Malfoy slept felt inappropriate, but then again: _he_ was probably used to it.   
Meanwhile, that fucking chair still stood there as if it had a right to.  
  
…remembering the Greyback manifestation made it feel as if it was happening. 

As if a breeze picked up, but instead of air, there was ‘excitement’ and ‘readiness to strike’.

Fuck, had Harry summoned it somehow? 

Before he’d said or asked anything at all, Malfoy said “Hm?”

It could be some kind of sleeping noise though, or the start of whatever reason he’d had to have _silencio'_ d himself the other night.   
(Come to think of it, the log hadn’t mentioned him casting it previously. What had _that_ been about?)

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry said quickly.

Malfoy didn’t respond and the manifestation intensified.

It took shape. 

Not visibly, but its breeze-like nature seemed to solidify until Harry could sense its outline beside the bed.   
The energy it radiated was _eager_ and repulsive.

Malfoy, who had been laying in semi-foetal position, opened his eyes and turned them to the figure Harry couldn’t see.   
They widened as his face drained. 

The figure moved. 

It was hard to tell what exactly it _did_ since Harry still couldn’t see it.   
He stood up in response to it, anyway.

…what was he going to do though? Hex a manifestation?   
That had gone wonderfully with Professor Burbage.

The figure moved again and Malfoy leapt out of bed, maximising distance as quickly as possible. 

Instantly the signalling charm went off, spraying red sparks accompanied by a hissing whistling sound.  
Harry _finite_ ’d it and kept his wand at the ready.

Malfoy had not turned away from the figure and he’d scrambled backwards into the side of his bookcase with a thump, wand pointed, eyes wide, blanket draped and dragged along like a royal cloak. 

_Did he also keep his wand under his pillow?_

As he leaned his back against the wood, the expression of terror drained away and he swayed, wand unwavering. Then he slid down a little, somehow still standing.

“Has it done this before?” Harry asked, not sure what to do.

Malfoy’s arm lowered limply as he slid to the ground. He blinked so slowly that Harry thought he’d passed out.  
It took another few seconds before there was a slight shake of the head and a groan in response. 

Lightheaded-ness due to rising too quickly was normal enough, and considering the state Malfoy was in, it was no wonder that all this movement had basically knocked him out. 

Harry was more concerned with something else. 

He’d been a Horcrux of the Residue Source, and this was a Pure Reactive Manifestation Cluster which included a _living_ part… 

…had thinking about Greyback triggered it?

The invisible figure hadn’t changed its location and didn’t ‘look’ as if it was about to, but it seemed to have directed itself towards Malfoy, who still sat on the ground. 

His knees were up and his face rested on them. He looked crumpled and a stain of darkness was appearing through the white blanket.

“Are you still alive?” Harry asked, trying to intone it the way he’d done the other day, hoping to get the same reaction.

A sniff (of amusement?) followed by an affirmative “Hm.”

The stain was increasing - Harry wouldn’t be surprised if blackness would reach through and Malfoy would sprout black tendrils of some sort.   
He’d seen something like that on television once and for all he knew, it could have been inspired by something magical.  
  
“Are you all right?” He asked, more concerned.

Malfoy gave a little snort that ended in a whimper.   
Then the dark stain reached the surface of the blanket. 

It was red. 

“Fuck - are you _bleeding_?”

“...spilling…” Malfoy responded slowly. 

“Fuck, all right, okay, ehm…” Harry looked around, unsure for _what_. “How? What happened?”

“…’s a bit pointy…”   
The whisper contained a croak of voice and his deep and steady breathing sounded strained.

Harry looked at the side of the book case Malfoy’d run into. Nothing pointy there, and besides - the blanket would be pierced if he’d been stabbed with something.

The stain grew.   
It wasn’t big, just over the size of a hand, but that it was there at all was bad enough.

Fuck, was Malkins’ needle still in there or something? 

_When in doubt, use Auror tone._

“Malfoy; _what_ is pointy? Is there something in there?”

Malfoy exhaled deeply, though it sounded amused.   
Then he raised his head with a grimace on his ashen face.  
  
“The _bone_ …”   
He breathed deeply, and his eyes shone. “…still there yes…” He took a deep breath. “…pretty sure…”

“Fuck, that must hurt. Okay, ehm…” Harry said, looking around for anything that might help. 

Malfoy raised both eyebrows in a half-hearted unimpressed response, then placed his face on his knees again.

Harry wasn’t a doctor _or_ a Healer, and the only bit of ‘knowledge’ he had in that regard came from Tristan and a lot of corpses.  
“Should I take you to St. Mungo’s?” 

Malfoy shook his head without looking up. 

Oh yeah, he’d been ‘manhandled’ by staff, hadn’t he? 

“They won’t do anything… _shitty_ if I’m there,” Harry added, but there was no response.

“Should I _get_ someone?” He tried again.  
  
Malfoy moved his head a bit but Harry couldn’t interpret it.

“Your mum?”

Slight shake of the head.

“Tristan knows some… medical things…”

Another head shake.

“…Johnny then, maybe?” 

“…no.” Malfoy sounded breathy.

“…okay. So - what should I do? Do you have something against pain?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head a little more, weak but agitated. “…can you shut up…” he trailed off, sounding distracted. 

_All right then._

Confused and unsure whether he should be annoyed, Harry adjusted his position in the chair.

The manifestation still ‘stood’ by the bed, radiating its intensity towards Malfoy. 

This was fucked up. 

But what could he do? Hex the Greyback thing?   
It might become worse.

…and he wasn’t about to grab Malfoy and look at his stump without an explicit invitation.   
He wouldn’t know what to do with it, anyway.

Awkwardly he got out his Monitoring FieldScroll and began to _do his job_ , meanwhile keeping as close an eye on both the manifestation and Malfoy as he could.

_26.11.1998, 08:00 Junior Auror Potter on duty_  
_26.11.1998, 08:30 - Charge lost consciousness due to_

He paused. 

Johnny had logged that Malfoy’d become unconscious in hospital, but that had been… different, somehow.   
Malfoy’d been out for hardly a minute just now, and Harry wished he hadn’t written this down at all. 

Also — due to _what_? Due to ‘accident’? 

That would look dodgy as fuck. 

The tampering measures didn’t allow him to erase anything, though.

He hesitated and looked at Malfoy, who was still huddled up in the nook beside the bookcase. 

He looked small.

Harry made up his mind.

 _Charge lost consciousness due to disability_.

The words stared back at him. _Accusingly_.

He felt like he had crossed a line, but he couldn’t put his finger on _how_.

No, no that was probably due to residue or something. He was _being professional_. 

The entry was true - Residue manifesting may have triggered the situation, Malfoy wouldn’t have passed out if his arm hadn’t been all… fucky. 

_…and what had triggered the manifestation?_

Harry put this FieldScroll on his knee and got out the other one to log what he’d found.

_former horcrux thought about Greyback in bedroom, which is pure reactive manif cluster, and Greyback manif’t. Disembodied malicious energy. Apparently unusual._

The shape was still there, but weaker than before.   
Malfoy hadn’t moved but was breathing, and the stain in the blanket had hardly spread, though it had become redder. 

Had anything else been… _unusual?_

“Was your aunt’s voice normal, just now?” Harry asked, not sure whether to expect an answer.

“No.” Malfoy croaked. “She differs, but not…” He took a breath, “Not like _this_.”  
He sounded almost normal, though he hadn’t raised his head.

_Bellatrix sounded seductive; unusual_

Harry didn’t expect that to have been his fault, since he’d hardly entered the room at the time. 

What else had been strange? 

Yeah, okay, _Tristan_ , but… - 

Hang on. 

“How was last night?” Harry asked the moment the thought struck him.

Malfoy froze.

 _Fuck_.

Harry switched to Auror tone. “What happened?”

He was relieved that he might not have been personally responsible, at least not fully, but this gave him something else to worry about. 

If Tristan would turn out to be as bad as Quiesko… 

No, that couldn’t be. 

Tristan had been great ever since they’d started working together.  
And he’d only been a little tense earlier, nothing else. He hadn’t even lost his calm until Harry’d freaked out over the signalling charm, and that’d only been to shut Harry up. 

And even if Tristan _was_ somehow similar to Quiesko, then surely whatever was happening now would have happened before Tristan’d even been here, right?

Malfoy still hadn’t responded.

“You summoned a Patronus?” Harry asked, wondering what angle to take. 

“Shut up.”

Ah, he sounded as if he felt better.  
“I will if _you_ talk, so tell me — what happened?”

No response, though Malfoy seemed to press his face into his knees even harder.   
That couldn’t be comfortable, considering how bony they were. 

“Were you happy?” Harry’d tried to ask it without sounding like a dick.

He waited, but no response came. 

“D’you think that’s what the Residue is responding to?”

Still nothing. 

“…do you want me to do my job?” 

Nothing, still. 

He waited a minute, actually counting down the seconds.

The figure loomed fainter and Malfoy just sat there, slightly trembling. 

“Are you all right?”

Not even fucking crickets.

Last time Harry’d gotten a lot of information by pissing him off… Maybe that was the way to go about it?

“Mal- _foy_ … What hap- _pened_ …?” He asked, singsong, FieldScrolls ready for relevant information. 

He might as well be talking to the fucking wall.   
Not only that; he felt like a dick for having even _tried_ that tone.

He sighed.   
“Sorry - Look: You know I’m trying to help, don’t you?”

Maybe he should get some tea after all, let Malfoy just… No, he might do something _stupid_ if he was left alone.

What was he supposed to do then? Just wait?

Harry sighed again and made up his mind. 

He was going to try to drag this out of him one more time but if he’d get no response, he’d hold off on questions and just focus on _Beedle the fucking Bard_.   
  
“This is _your_ bedroom, all right,” He couldn’t help but sound admonishing, his exasperation was hard to contain. “If you want me to do my job you’ve _got_ to… — ” 

Malfoy promptly got up, swayed a little and leaned his back against the wall for support. The scowl melted off his flushed face.

His eyes were wet and he gazed ahead without focus, without expression. Then he extended his arm and pointed his wand at the door behind Harry.

It opened, the tap began to run, and Malfoy lowered his arm. 

_Like a zombie_.

Then he walked to the bathroom as if under _Imperio_ , stump passing near Harry’s face. 

The tip of the bandage was soaked, dripping with blood. 

It had stained his white sleepwear.

Greyback’s chair ‘took its place’ just after Malfoy’d passed the threshold, but it scooted forwards, blocking the doorway.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked when he’d regained himself. 

No response.

He was ready to jump up in case it’d be too quiet there. “…did St. Mungo’s give you anything in case you’d — ”

There was a scoff, followed by a brief chuckle.

Harry cautiously got up and there was a chortle. This one sounded more amused.

 _Oh, shit_.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked, bracing himself. 

Malfoy stepped into sight, a broad, wry smile on his face. His eyes sparkled wetly as he stood in the doorway, touching the _chair_ with his shin without acknowledging it. 

**!** The bandage was gone - the bit of flesh that stuck out of the bloodstained sleeve looked like burnt meat. 

It cost Harry effort to avert his eyes. 

“Can you _imagine_ I was upset about that hippogriff?” Malfoy laughed, his mouth like the Cheshire cat, his eyes gleaming with mad desperation.

He’d really lost it this time, hadn’t he?

His cackles were tinged with hysteria and his eyes leaked unacknowledged tears as he raised the stump and looked at it.

 **!** Near its end, Harry could distinguish two little areas that had a normal skin tone, but for the rest it was pitch black and looked like a poorly tied off sausage. 

**!** Blood ran up his arm as he kept it raised, staining his sleepwear further.   
**!** The blackness itself gradually split off into tendrils, as if he’d dipped it in ink, the amount of skin colour increasing closer to his shoulder. 

It looked disgusting.

“Where’s your Draught of Peace?” Harry asked, managing to keep his voice neutral.

Malfoy focused on him and the amusement drained off his face.   
He lowered the stump and the red sleeve mercifully covered it. 

Then he closed his eyes, his face taking on an unmistakable hint of green. 

“Sit down,” Harry suggested. 

Malfoy staggered back and sat on the edge of the emerald tub.

He leaned forward and went to put his elbows on his knees. 

…he didn’t catch himself until he tried to lean his head in his hands.

Then he began to cry.


	11. Antagonistic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter contains some slurs, both fandom-specific and ‘real’. Also there is reference to dubious consent. Of course instances of this are exclamation marked, and all can be found towards the end of the chapter.**

Harry stood there for a moment, frozen like a deer in headlights. 

He knew exactly what had gone wrong — asking about the draught had snapped Malfoy back to reality, when really he should have been eased back into it.   
Harry should have mentioned something neutral instead, the bath or so, since that would have distracted him without forcing him to face the state he was in as much. 

The cackling might have been unnerving, this was worse. 

…and though Harry had seen him cry in a bathroom before, it wasn’t the same.

Malfoy had been stressed, then - on edge, _pressured_ , and he’d lashed out like a cornered cat. 

Now he was… defeated. 

Helpless.

Every Auror who’d spoken about the monitoring duty had called it ‘babysitting’… Harry wondered whether they knew how accurate the term was. Or whether ‘Johnny’ and Quiesko would have had to… _deal_ with this too.

…but, as Ginny had so aptly put it — he’d _made_ it his problem. 

Of course that didn’t make him a babysitter, but he _was_ on duty while his charge was breaking down. He couldn’t just sit back and twiddle his thumbs waiting for log-able stuff to happen, there was no way his conscience would let him.

So first he sent his Patronus for Narcissa.  
He had no idea where she was or what she got up to, so he could only hope she wouldn’t be long.

Then he looked over the chair at Malfoy, who cried as if he was alone.

He’d probably gotten used to ignoring the presence of _…others_. 

“What can I do?” Harry asked, half expecting Malfoy to cast an Unforgivable on him again. 

Malfoy ignored him and had folded into himself, his elbow on his knee and his hand grabbing into his hair as if to find purchase.  
Because of how his bloodied shirt hung, Harry could see the black tendrils spread over his chest.

They seemed to pulsate. 

…

  
Having Malfoy go to pieces like this was inappropriate. 

_Deescalation Tactics_ offered some suggestions;  
One way to ‘snap someone out of it’ was to remind them of their responsibilities. Unfortunately, Malfoy didn’t have any of those, apart from perhaps cleaning the blood off his shirt… but giving him a task would put Harry in a position of authority, and that felt like a dick move.   
Besides, he’d gotten awfully close to that by asking where the draught was.

Asking him what was wrong seemed both redundant and not nearly enough… but perhaps an innocuous question would shift his attention to neutral ground.  
  
Malfoy couldn’t possibly _want_ to be seen like this.   
It was worth a shot. 

And if he’d lash out, well… 

Harry was pretty sure he knew how to deal with that.   
(Not _with Sectumsempra_ , his mind provided.)

“What’s your favourite colour?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy calmed down quickly — within five seconds he’d stopped crying, his chest making a final shivering motion as he sat more upright. His hand leaned beside him on the edge of the bath, his stump mirroring the movement as far as it could.  
He expressionlessly looked at Harry, his face flushed, his eyes red-rimmed.   
“Did you say something?” He asked, sounding flat.   
  
This was clearly another one of those mental mood flips. When Harry’d seen him in the bathroom _that time_ he’d also snapped out of it nearly instantly. 

Had he already been mad back then?  
  
“I asked what your favourite colour is — you do have one, don’t you?”

Malfoy inquisitively narrowed an eye. ”Why would you reject an opportunity to pretend you never asked?”

“Why would I?” Harry asked, “It’s a harmless question.” 

“That’s because it’s pointless.” Malfoy sounded haughty and a little wry.

“There’s nothing wrong with pointless, though.” Harry wasn’t sure why he’d put reassurance in his tone. 

This situation was weird. 

Malfoy didn’t respond and instead looked to the side, to a part of the bathroom Harry couldn’t see. Probably at the mirror.

He seemed to be considering something.

“Well?” Harry asked after a few seconds.

“Why do you need to know?” Malfoy blandly asked the thing he was looking at.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Harry asked incredulously. Why was Malfoy this guarded about something so inconsequential?  
_Interrogating him_ had been easier. 

“You’re wasting time,” Malfoy said flatly as he made eye contact again.

“ _I_ am? Just answering the question would have taken you two syllables at most!”

“You could be assessing the chair instead of fishing for personal trivia… _Oh_ …” Wry amusement crept onto Malfoy’s face. “ _Right_ ,” He drew out the word, a mocking tone of realisation, “You need the memory, don’t you?” He continued sardonically. “All right, then. Hand me a vial.”

Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy was being this… condescending? about the situation.   
Perhaps it was his way of exerting some control again? 

Possibly… but it didn’t seem quite right. 

Malfoy could have just lost control of himself entirely. 

…neither of these options were comfortable to consider and Harry brushed the thought aside for now. Ridding the house of Residue was his priority, so this… _whatever-it-was_ didn’t really matter as long as he’d get the memory. 

He had to keep an eye on him, he didn’t need to ‘fix’ him.

Besides, Narcissa would be here soon.

He crammed his FieldScrolls back into their respective boxes, then caught himself when he tried to put them in a non-existent pocket.   
He’d dressed casually this morning, and his sweatshirt offered less options for tucking stuff away. 

He pocketed the boxes and reached into one of his jean pockets to get out a vial.

The things were sturdier than he had expected — if they would have been made out of normal glass they would have definitely shattered, considering he’d nearly sat on them. 

He approached the chair, which was still blocking the bathroom entrance. Its arm supports were compressed by the door frame and the whole thing felt ominous. 

Malfoy silently watched him, not making any indication of getting up to take the vial from him.

Harry was a little annoyed by that, but figured he could hardly expect manners from someone who couldn’t stick to a single mood for the duration of a sentence.   
“…should I throw it? Hover it?” He asked.

Malfoy grinned in his mental way. “Do you remember when you asked me whether I should have an arm attached to my broom so it could catch the Snitch for me?” 

Harry did remember that and tried to keep his face neutral. “Yeah…”   
  
“Does the offer still stand?” Malfoy asked mockingly, as he cocked his head to the side. 

“I’ll just hover it, okay?” Harry suggested. 

“Throw it.” Malfoy demanded.

Harry looked at the vial and back at Malfoy, who still looked fragile and malicious. The blood on his sleepwear seemed more disconcerting now he was madly amused again.  
  
“Throw. it.” Malfoy repeated ominously.

Harry threw it.

Malfoy snatched it out of the air, then went to take his wand from near the sink.  
When he sat back on the edge of the tub, he placed and held the vial between his knees, then gave Harry a _look_ as if challenging him to comment. 

Harry said nothing.

Malfoy took the stopper off and kept it in his palm, then twirled his wand a single time and placed it against his temple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as the wand curved away.   
Wispy white strands trailed after it, intermittently distinguishable from the bloodstained sleepwear. Once they reached their destination he changed direction, moving in a controlled diagonal line upwards. The memory, rather than being trailed along, neatly curved tip-first into the vial.

He then twirled his wand and placed it in his armpit, replaced the stopper, got up and stepped onto the chair as if it were a flight of stairs.   
The leather shifted more than expected, considering Malfoy’s weight, but he continued undeterred until he stood with both feet on the back support. There he remained, looking down on Harry, dangling the vial between two fingers.

Harry slowly reached up to take it from him. 

Malfoy let go too early. 

Harry’s Seeker reflexes were the only reason he’d caught it.  
“Lost your grip?” He asked, then wondered whether it would be taken as a quip. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to have registered the potential insult. He swayed a bit and raised his hand to lean it beside the door frame, all the while maintaining eye contact. “Now, Auror Potter; I trust your competence completely.”   
It sounded like a public statement of some sort. 

Harry didn’t believe it.

“Thanks,” He said as he pocketed the vial, careful to sound neutral. 

He expected Malfoy to snap again at any moment. 

A movement caught his eye — Malfoy’s sleepwear was pushed up to his hip by something invisible, revealing black boxer briefs. Malfoy gazed ahead for a second, frozen and expressionless. Then he promptly turned and stepped back into the bathroom, where he began to cast the privacy glamour. 

Slow, low, dark derisive laughter emanated from the chair.

The goosebumps on Harry’s arms and neck rose and he watched Malfoy, who ignored the sound entirely. 

How could he touch that chair twice — first with his shin and now with his feet — when he’d been so uncomfortable about it the other day? 

Was this just his madness?

…the manifestations genuinely differed though…

…and there was a fucking _theme_ to them today, wasn’t there?

With a sinking feeling he sat back down in Malfoy’s desk chair and logged what he ought to, as he mulled it over. 

“Did you hear that sound just now?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy didn’t turn around. “I’ve not been laughed at by furniture before,” He said dryly as he continued to cast.  
Elongated bubbles of semitransparent gold floated from his wand, and popped into their honey grate shape when they reached their predecessors. A very gentle chime could be heard each time. 

Malfoy’d also been very uncomfortable at the mention of Tristan, hadn’t he?

Harry watched for a moment, then asked: “What did you think about handing the memory to Tristan?” 

Malfoy froze.  
“…blue.” He said after a few seconds.   
Then he continued casting. 

He seemed more guarded.

It took Harry a few seconds to realise what Malfoy meant.  
”Your favourite colour is blue?” He asked, wondering whether he had _chosen_ to return to the previous question or whether his madness had forced him to.

Regardless, something dodgy had happened last night.

Harry thought for a moment, wondering how to bend the topic to what he wanted to hear.   
“…so why all the emerald for your bathroom?” He asked, to keep Malfoy engaged in conversation so he had time to think.

“It wasn’t _made_ for me,” Malfoy said, the eye roll audible. “My bedroom and the _en suite_ belonged to my Father’s f-Father — …” He’d started off in the haughty condescending tone that had been so usual in school, but Harry had heard his breath hitch near the end.

He hadn’t heard Malfoy mention his dad at all since the trial, had he?

Fuck, was he supposed to say something nice about him? 

“…and there is nothing as wasteful as undue change,” Malfoy finished after a few seconds, sounding strained. He nodded to himself as he continued to cast.

“Fair enough,” Harry started carefully, trying not to sound too eager about having found his ‘in’. “So… any idea how come the manifestations in your room have changed?”

Malfoy seemed to sag in response, then stepped back as if to admire his glamour. 

Water poured over the edge of the tub and clattered onto the marble.   
It wasn’t until it reached Malfoy’s feet that he absent-mindedly charmed the tap closed. Then he walked to the side, out of sight.

Harry stood up and listened intently — he could hear cloth move.   
Okay, he was probably undressing — he was fine.

After just over a minute Malfoy walked back in sight, behind the glamour, and got into the overfilled bath. He didn’t acknowledge the water cascading onto the tiles.

He sank below the edge of the bath and more water poured out — he stayed down for nearly a minute and just when Harry had decided to leap over the chair to yank him back up, Malfoy resurfaced and gasped for air.

…at least he still had _some_ sense of self-preservation. 

Harry decided he was going to try a different tactic for this ‘interrogation’. 

He was going to be _polite_ about it.  
“Can I get you anything?”

Malfoy turned his head and looked at him. ”You’re not going to let me out of your sight, are you?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope.”

“You should know better than to create false hope.” It sounded neutral. 

…and very fucking dramatic, considering Harry had been referring to getting him a towel from the cabinet or something.

Malfoy’s arm hung limply over the edge of the bath, holding his wand loosely.   
“…do _you_ want anything?” he asked.

…was Malfoy getting back at him?

“…eh… tea?” Harry asked, half joking. He wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy would summon brightly coloured plastic cups and expect him to drink air.

No — scratch that, it’d probably be silver and fucking _emerald_.

Or… he could summon a house elf to serve him.

Yeah, that made more sense.

  
Malfoy moved his wand, which Harry could see clearly underneath the glamour.   
It was initially a fast and controlled movement, which curved and became a restrained straight diagonal line, as if there was a weight attached to it. 

Then he flicked.

A ceramic teapot appeared in mid-air, silverwork beset with emeralds at its base and rim. 

Malfoy flicked again and there was a matching cup. 

Harry watched in astonishment. 

Malfoy made another curve-like motion and the tea poured into the cup. 

He swirled an upwards gesture and a small silver table with collapsible legs appeared on the bed. He hovered both items towards it and placed them upon it with a gentle ‘tic’. 

Harry was transfixed.

Malfoy sighed. “…I still forget that the tables can’t be trusted.”

“I — … thought you were getting a house elf,” Harry said, forcing his gaze away from the tea.

“…we haven’t had one in a while…” Malfoy sighed, as he moved his wand. An amber coloured bottle appeared on the edge of the bath, a golden… stopper? at the top. 

The glamour made the details hard to distinguish.

“You see… after Dobby’s betrayal, my parents became more careful…” Malfoy sounded a little wistful, which was the only thing that restrained Harry’s bristling at the mention of his friend. 

Malfoy unscrewed the bottle by hand and through the swaying of the glamour, Harry could see its _contents_ were amber coloured. The bottle itself was transparent and bore a golden seal of some kind.

Was that _liquor_?

“…so …once the Dark Lord took residence, they… _disposed_ of her.”

Fuck, did they kill their own house elf?

Malfoy discarded the lid onto the wet tiles where it landed with a little ‘splat’. Then he raised the bottle as if toasting to something invisible in front of him, holding his wand flush against it.   
“To Mipsy,” He said, then took a swig. 

It took Harry a moment to decide what to respond to first.   
”It’s nine in the morning,” He said, not entirely pleased with _that_ being the topic he’d landed on. Then again — Malfoy hadn’t killed the elf so… he was better off filing that away for later. 

Malfoy put the bottle down on the edge and cast something in front of himself that Harry couldn’t see.   
“Over ten minutes off? Sloppy, Potter, I thought _better_ of you.”

“You can’t _drink_ at this time.”  
  
“And why is that?” Malfoy asked, mockingly curious. “Do I have engagements for which I need to be _of sound mind_?” A bitter scoff escaped him and he had another swig.

“Your mum could be here at any moment,” Harry tried, suddenly aware of how long it was taking her.   
Had something happened to her? 

Was she stuck in Residue somewhere?

Fuck, he could hardly go and check, could he?

”Oh no, not my Mother!” Malfoy exclaimed dramatically. “Can’t have her see me trying to _enjoy_ myself, gosh, can you imagine?” He smacked his lips. “I should get back to crying, just in case she comes in!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry started, annoyed, but Malfoy ignored him.

“Oh _boo_ , my arm, _boohoo_ …” He said mockingly, then took another swig. “ _Boo_ , Father is dead, boo hoo…” He trailed off as if he realised something, then placed the bottle on the edge again and remained eerily still. 

Harry didn’t know what to do with this, so he gave him a few seconds and decided to cycle back to what he wanted to know.   
“…Malfoy… What happened yesterday…?”

“ _Boo_! Potter is watching me _bathe_!” He exclaimed suddenly, but it didn’t sound antagonistic. Just… a bit loud. 

Harry waited a moment before he carefully asked: “…what happened with Tristan?” 

Malfoy took another swig and seemed to be contemplating something.  
“…are you going to _tell_ on me?” He asked darkly.

“…what did you do?” Harry asked, tone firm but careful.

There was silence, not even the sloshing of water could be heard.   
“…I was… _determined_ … to have my way…” He trailed off, then sighed.   
“…should have known better,” He said with a head gesture as if that was fair enough, then took another sip.

Harry sat very still and hoped not to distract Malfoy from talking. 

“I’d thought that… since it was _new_ … the Residue would remain… _unaffected_.”  
He sounded deflated.  
“…but I’m part of it,” He added under his breath.

He raised the bottle to his mouth again, hesitated half way, then continued and took a bigger swig.

Harry really ought to stop him, but… he needed to know what happened, didn’t he?

Malfoy seemed lost in thought and remained silent.

“…so what happened?” Harry asked, trying to sound somewhat casual.

“We spoke… for _hours_ …” He made a half-hearted gesture of grandeur with the bottle, “Or — _he_ spoke, and I let him…”

That definitely sounded like Tristan. 

“He mentioned some of his… _flaws_ …” He gestured with the bottle. “ _His_ initiative, I might add…” 

Tristan was an Auror — a more experienced one than Harry, so the concern Harry felt was probably unjustified… Then again, Tristan _had_ taken the monitoring duty very lightly.

“So I thought to myself — ‘this is a fully qualified Auror, volunteering all this personal information… Surely he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t _want_ me to know’.” His tone was mock-casual and he took another swig.  
“…and since stilted knowledge is just wasteful… I thought I’d better use it.”   
He sounded very fucking pleased with himself.

“What information?” Harry asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Oh, you know…” Malfoy sounded as if he was smiling, “Former Auror partners… Education… Hopes… Dreams… Interests…” Malfoy gestured the bottle with every thing he listed, as if to emphasise that he had to think about it.   
“Place of birth… _Zodiac_ …” He intoned it as if it was particularly interesting, and thoughtfully took a swig.

“Blood status…” He trailed off thoughtfully. “Oh, and that he was an only child.”

The hair in Harry’s neck rose. 

Tristan’s mum was a Muggle.

But… Tristan _knew_ Malfoy was a Death Eater, reluctant or not.   
Why would he have volunteered all that information? Would ‘Johnny’ have told him to? 

Was Malfoy lying? 

  
…what could he possibly gain with that?

  
How did _any_ of this make sense?

Malfoy continued casually: “At some point I offered him a drink… Told him to make himself comfortable…“

There was a pause in which Malfoy slowly and thoughtfully took another swig from the bottle. 

Harry impatiently waited for him to continue of his own accord. 

“…so he took a _chair_ …”

…why had Malfoy intoned it like that?

_Oh…_

Oh for _fuck’s_ sake. 

Harry felt his face drain.

Tristan hadn’t taken _that_ chair, had he?

Hadn’t Harry warned him about it? Fuck — Why hadn’t Tristan been able to sense for himself that it was fucked up?

When Harry’d sensed the Greyback manifestation it had been… eager, and he hadn’t even _touched_ it.

“And then?” He asked, dreading the answer.

Malfoy’s focus snapped to him — he had apparently forgotten who he was talking to. 

“Things escalated, of course.” He said, sounding appalled by having to explain.

Harry looked at him, trying to figure out whether that meant what he thought it did.

…if Tristan would have sat in that chair, how much worse would that ‘eagerness’ have been? 

Malfoy shook his head, took a sip, and turned to look at the bathroom wall ahead of him again.

“…did you — _…sleep…_ with him?” Harry asked, mortified.

**!** “With that _mudblood queer_?” Malfoy spat in a tone _so_ foul that Harry didn’t realise he’d grabbed his wand in response until his grip made his fingers crack. 

“Y—…!” He started, unsure of what he was going to say, but Malfoy continued undeterred: “ _Yes_ , I did.”

He sounded… smug?

_What the fuck?_

“He _is_ an Auror…“ Malfoy said so haughtily he nearly fucking purred, “So he _really_ ought to know better.” He summoned a bottle from behind him and poured some of its contents into the bath. 

The smell of petrichor spread through the room.

Harry wanted to strangle him.  
“ _Why?_ ” He asked, outraged. “Why the fuck would you — ”

**!** “Potter, Potter, Potter…” Malfoy said condescendingly, “He is an _Auror_ , I am a Death Eater. I’m _supposed_ to push it a little, and he is supposed to be able to handle himself. Besides…”  
He turned to Harry and leaned close to the glamour so the details of his face were visible. He looked very fucking malicious “…who is to blame for the ongoing presence of the Residue?”

Harry was so mad he couldn’t feel the room around him anymore — he sat still, he had to be sitting still, but it felt like a balance was tipping and he couldn’t tell whether he was at its centre or about to slide.

The bedroom door swung open and Harry’s attention snapped to it.   
Narcissa stood there wearing a travelling cloak, one eye black and swollen.

“Draco?” She gasped, before sinking to her knees on the threshold.


	12. Attitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I wanted to have the oneshot about what happened with Tristan up before uploading this, but I’m not gonna manage (it’s at 8k and not done) so I decided that an extra update would have to do instead! **  
> **  
>  **The next update will be New Years-ish.**  
>  **There is mention of extreme body modification in this chapter, a cheeky bit of physical abuse, and there is elaborate talk of self destruction, of course all of this will be exclamation marked. Enjoy!****

Narcissa grasped a side of the door frame with both hands and pulled herself upright, gracefully but with effort. Her travelling cloak remained in a sad puddle on the floor.   
Then she took in the room with a single move of her head, one eye wide, the other black and swollen nearly shut.   
Her gaze followed the trail of Malfoy’s blood to where it was interrupted by the brown leather chair. 

Harry watched her silently as she went over to it without a word, trying to come down from the blast of rage he’d had.

He couldn’t remember experiencing one quite like this before. 

She placed her hands on the back of the chair and hopped onto it sideways, as if it was a horse. Then she flung both legs over it and stepped off the seat, temporarily blocking Malfoy from Harry’s sight.

Her dress hadn’t even crinkled.

She used her wand to cut the glamour so it hung loosely like a curtain, then folded part of it aside.

When Harry could see Malfoy’s face clearly he gave him a _dark fucking look_ , but Malfoy just had eyes for his mum.

“Mother? What happened?” He asked, sounding concerned.

Harry lost _some_ of his rage… but not nearly all of it. 

Malfoy’d lost a fucking war about this blood status bullshit, _and_ he’d gotten along with Myrtle, hadn’t he?   
Were non-purebloods only respectable when they were fucking _ghosts_?

“Could we have a moment?” Narcissa asked Harry.

“No, sorry.” Harry said briskly. 

She had an unreadable expression and turned back to Malfoy, who looked up at her questioningly.

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bath, still allowing a clear view of Malfoy’s face.   
The glamour extended in neon red where it was stretched, but it cooperated. 

Then she leaned over and gently took the bottle from Malfoy’s hand and placed it on the floor, out of his reach. 

Neither of them commented on it.   
  
“There was an emergency…?” She looked at Malfoy, who made a face as if he had no idea what she was talking about. 

She looked back at Harry, her face concerned, desperate, and warped by her black eye.

“He had a breakdown because he bumped his stump,” Harry said curtly.   
He petulantly hoped it still hurt.

She pressed her lips together and appeared to be about to say something. 

Suddenly Harry spotted _red_ on the bathroom floor — crimson flowers of blood floated on the wet surface, emanating from the bottom of her long black dress.   
And now he was paying attention — she’d also left a trail from the doorway and over the back of the chair.  
“You’re bleeding?” He asked.

“Mother?” Malfoy looked at her in alarm.

“A little splinched — nothing serious.” She said, sounding strained.

Malfoy briefly pressed his lips together.   
“And… should I ask?” He asked pointedly, nodding at her face. 

She tensed.

“Oh, I see…” Malfoy said darkly.

“Draco…” Narcissa sighed, sounding tired.   
Harry guessed it was supposed to be a warning.

“You couldn’t be inconspicuous with a _Patronus_ prancing about, could you?” Malfoy said maliciously and gave Harry a look.

“Wait, it got you attacked?” Harry asked, distracted from his anger.

She sighed, exasperated.

A trail of footsteps appeared in the bloody water on the floor, each disappearing when the invisible foot was lifted. They seemed feminine. 

Malfoy looked at something Harry couldn’t see — above the footprints _he_ couldn’t see.

…that was probably his aunt, making this situation even fucking weirder.

The feet stopped and turned promptly next to Narcissa, creating a little circular splash. The glamour swayed ever so gently. 

Malfoy sighed, apparently more at ease now.

Could he see her?

Harry tried to focus on the conversation for now. “I’m sorry — ” He said to Narcissa, meaning it; “What happened?”

She sighed. “Nothing to worry about, Harry Potter — ”

_His name was not a fucking title._

“Harry,” Harry cut in, then realised who he was talking to.  
He didn’t hate her but he didn’t like her either, so being on first name basis was a bit _much_.

“…Harry,” She said, seeming both a little confused and relieved.

 _Shit._  
Well, he had brought that upon himself.

“There is no reason for concern… I appreciate you notifying me and I would request you do so again, in case a similar situation arises,” She said to Harry, then turned back to her son.

“Bumped…?” She asked, and Malfoy raised his stump with a sardonic expression. 

“I thought that if I peeled back the flesh, I could attach my wand to the bone,” He said with a grin. “Magical to the _core_.”

“Don’t be _crass_ , Draco,” She was clearly uncomfortable.

 **!** “Or have it sculpted, like they do with ivory…” He trailed off and looked at his stump, apparently considering it.

…so he was in one of _those_ moods.  
  
“ _Draco_!” She sounded more angry now.

 **!** “Carve it into a flute, perhaps?” Another one of those wry warped grins appeared on his face. 

His mum looked at him as if she smelled something nasty.  
  
“ _Or a shiv_ …” He seemed particularly taken with that idea.

Narcissa grabbed him by the face, giving him a fishy mouth, and forced him to look at her. 

Beside her, just above head height, the glamour was gently turned orange where it was indented by something the size of a fingertip.   
It seemed to trail an ‘8’, but since the pressure didn’t remain, it was hard to make out.

Malfoy squirmed for a second but then lowered his stump.   
Harry could see the malice drain away.

“ _Don’t_.” Narcissa emphasised, and Malfoy gave the smallest nod in response.   
”You’re better than that.” She added strictly.

The glamour shape continued and Harry figured it was more like a pretzel.

…and when the long line trailed down he realised that it was a Dark Mark. 

_Obviously._

A fucking _pretzel_?

Had he forgotten where he was?

Malfoy deflated into expressionlessness and the moment his mum let go of him, he sank deeper into the bath.   
His nose only _just_ remained above the surface.

The glamour was impressed upon again in the same location, this time not with a fingertip but with a face — first the tip of a nose, then cheeks, upper lip and eyebrows — then its entire outline.

Narcissa, oblivious to this, drew herself upright and turned to Harry.   
“I would apologise to you for having to witness this, but I fear that it is quite out of my hands.”

The face beside Narcissa opened its mouth and stuck out its tongue, licking the glamour.

This was unmistakably Bellatrix.

Malfoy looked at it for a few seconds and then submerged himself.  
His arm still hung over the edge of the tub and he was holding his wand, so Harry figured there was no reason to worry until he lost his grip.   
_Literally._

“But… allow me to apologise for my son’s _behaviour_.” Narcissa’s tone became sharper as she spoke. “I do not condone it.” 

“Yeah, he had some unacceptable things to say,” Harry said, wondering what would happen if he told her what Malfoy had told him. 

He suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be logging the manifestations.   
  
“…he hasn’t been quite… _himself_.” She said, quite composed, but her eyes glittered. 

“Have you considered a mindhealer?” Harry said, echoing what so many people had said to him.

She pressed her lips together and looked at her son’s face, still below the surface.   
Then she looked back at Harry. 

Her sitting there, all posh and haughty with her black eye, her blood on the floor, and her invisible dead sister beside her as Malfoy quietly drowned himself… 

…it was a scene Harry wasn’t going to forget any time soon.

She drew herself more upright just as Bellatrix’ face retreated from the glamour.   
“We can’t afford that,” She said haughtily. 

“Don’t want to ruin your image?” Harry sounded a bit ruder than he’d intended. 

Her eyes widened. “ _Mister Potter_ — ”

He was relieved he didn’t need to be on first name basis with her after all, but he wasn’t sure why she was intentionally titling him.

“…charity is providing those who ‘have not’ with what one believes they _deserve_ , is it not…?” She seemed mildly exasperated and a little condescending, but more than that — she seemed _embarrassed_.

Harry considered her words, then nodded. 

She drew herself more upright, still. “So… when one finds oneself in a certain _position_ … one cannot _afford_ to rely on charity.”

Considering people thought Malfoy ought to _die_ , it was fair enough that they weren’t accepting surprise packages —   
Then something clicked. 

“Wait — you mean you _actually_ can’t afford it?” Harry asked. ”Like — Financially?”

Malfoy got back up from under water, gasping for air, and his mum turned to him.   
“Let’s not speak of this,” She said, and Harry was sure that was meant for him.

Malfoy didn’t seem remotely malicious anymore.   
“Should I heal that for you?” He asked when he’d caught his breath, sounding concerned and looking at his mum’s face as he raised his wand.

“That isn’t your place,” She said gently.

Malfoy guffawed. “Who else will?” He asked incredulously. 

**!** She struck him with the back of her hand.   
The slap rung wet and echoey, and his wand landed on the water on the floor with a little splat.

Harry’d frozen, the droning shock reverberating in his chest. 

He hadn’t expected this, not from her, and he realised he’d drawn his wand.

A mocking gasp could be heard — probably Bellatrix — and Narcissa deflated as Malfoy turned back to look at her remorsefully.

She reached out, the back of her hand now gently stroking where she’d struck him. 

“I’m sorry darling,” She whispered, then leaned over to cup his face in both her hands and pressed her lips on his hairline. A tear escaped her black eye as she squeezed it shut.  
“That was unacceptable,” She said as she broke away, still holding his face and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, flustered. “I’m sorry.”

Malfoy shrugged. 

She bent to pick up his wand and place it in his limp hand, but he didn’t take it and it fell back to the floor. 

“Draco, please,” She said desperately as she picked it up again. 

He retreated his arm into the water. 

She placed his wand on the edge of the bath and reached for his face, gently stroking it. 

He ignored her entirely. 

“Should I get you anything?” She asked, more flustered. “Draught of Peace? Dittany?”

“Stop putting on a show,” He muttered flatly and she froze. “Some dittany please, thank you Mother.”

She nodded tensely and got up.  
  
Harry saw the wet footsteps in the water go towards the _chair_ , which then forcefully moved to its previous location, still facing the bathroom.

Narcissa froze.

“Thank-you, auntie Bella,” Malfoy said semi-singsong, and Narcissa looked at the ceiling for a moment, clearly trying to compose herself.  
Then she promptly marched out, painting a broad watered-down streak of blood on the floor with the wet hem of her dress. 

  
Harry waited until he thought she was out of earshot.   
“…does she know what you did last night?” He then asked.

Malfoy’s focus snapped to him, mortified.

“Okay,” Harry said, pretend-casually, and got out his FieldScroll.

He could tell from the periphery of his sight that Malfoy was looking forwards again, white as a sheet.

_Good, let him fucking soak in it for a while._

There was no way he’d give Malfoy up to his mum if this is how she responded to an insensitive remark — who knew what she might do if she found out that he’d actually _done_ something ‘indecent’?   
But… if this could help him find the answers he needed, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

He caught up on his logging.

“So — You told him to take a chair and he just _happened_ to take that one?” Harry nodded at the furniture in question as he spoke.

Malfoy remained quiet.

“Come on, you can’t tell me something like that and expect me to just drop it.”

“My Mother is bleeding,” Malfoy said neutrally.

“Yep,” Said Harry, reminding himself that she was getting dittany so she could easily apply some to herself as well. “Now answer me: How did you ‘escalate’ the situation?”

“…he’d said something about me being his only concern…” Malfoy began steadily, quite serious.

Harry remembered that and pressed his lips together. 

He was definitely gonna have a word with Tristan when he next saw him.

“…and mentioned that he had been after _your_ oblivious self from the moment you were first paired up…” Malfoy sounded a little pleased with himself now.

_Wait, what?_

“He also said something about his parents’ professions, about why he was an Auror…” Malfoy seemed to become a bit more comfortable speaking again.   
”He told me what he’d heard about me, he told me about him… — ” Malfoy had trailed off and suddenly sounded impatient: “He was _obviously_ employing the whole ‘we’re equals and I’m so relatable’ Spiel.” He rolled his eyes. “Trying to win my _trust_ for whatever reason.” 

“What on earth could he gain with that?” Harry asked incredulously.   
How had Malfoy gotten the idea that his trust was worth anything anymore?

Then he felt like a dick for thinking it.

“Exactly!” Malfoy said as if Harry had made his point for him. “So _I_ figured I should get something on _him_ , just in case.”

Harry wondered for a moment how the fuck Malfoy could have used the situation in any way at all, considering the name ‘Malfoy’ had suffered quite a social faceplant.   
…and then he remembered Johnny, who could probably pull some strings.

“So you slept with half the Aurors watching you?” Harry asked, disgusted and uncomfortable.   
Malfoy gave him a look that was impossible to interpret, but he didn’t answer.

Harry hated this situation — he didn’t know the details, but logging this couldn’t just land Malfoy in Azkaban; it could potentially cost Tristan his job, too.  
…and it wouldn’t be a very ‘honourable discharge’, either.

Fuck — whatever had happened, careless or not, those consequences seemed too definite. 

Harry bristled. 

Why couldn’t the two of them just bloody fancy each other so it wouldn’t — No, fuck, then the shoe would just be on the other foot, wouldn’t it?  
The power dynamic was fucked either way. 

Blood Hell.

Why couldn’t this just _not_ be happening?

“…have you at all considered that Tristan might just be _nice_?” Harry snapped, exasperated. 

Malfoy snorted.   
“Of course! He’ll bring friendship bracelets next time and we can skip through the gardens, stump in hand.” He said, viciously sarcastic. Then his tone flipped to condescension: “Do you honestly suppose a _mudblood_ like him would — “

“ _Don’t_ say that again,” Harry said darkly.

“Or what?” Malfoy asked, mockingly curious.

“I might be able to find some Aurors who aren’t so keen on you to do the babysitting… I’m sure there’ll be volunteers.”

“ _Threatening_ me, Potter?” Malfoy asked, weirdly sardonic. “Do you _want_ me to have an accident?”

“Might be fun for your mum to walk in on,” Harry said.   
He wondered whether he sounded like he meant it.

“Oh lovely — not only will she be financially ruined and trapped in this _Hellhole_ , she’ll also lose the only person who doesn’t want her lynched _and_ she’ll have to inter her final relative. Well done!” He said as if he had just won an argument, then summoned the liquor bottle back to himself and took a swig. “— _hm!_ ” he exclaimed with his mouth full and swallowed, gesturing the bottle as if he was about to say something. “ _If_ she can afford to, that is.”

Harry logged the summoning charm with frustrated resignation.

“Did you know that Azkaban charges for deceased prisoners? Storage, release and transportation are accounted for separately and if you don’t cough up on time, they’ll _Incendio_ the body and dump it into the ocean.” He’d said it as if this was an interesting bit of trivia and took a moment to breathe. 

Then he took another sip. “The guards weren’t very fond of me, so I’m positive I’ll trip into a wall at some point, bars or no.” 

Harry hadn’t meant to imply that Malfoy would end up in Azkaban, but didn’t really fancy correcting the assumption.   
Instead, he tried to be angry about no longer being angry.

Malfoy smiled. “I haven’t gone swimming in a long time, do you think I’ll go in circles?” He looked at Harry as if he was actually asking.   
**!** “ _Before_ I’ll succumb to cramp, that is — or no, hypothermia. Yes, that’ll do it.” He gazed off, nodded, and was about to take another sip, but then continued as if he remembered something: “Oh I forget…” He sighed. “I tire quite easily these days… Pass out if I get wound up. Sheer shock might knock me out before I hit the water.”   
He considered for a moment, then chuckled before sighing in mocking wistfulness: “No swimming for me…”

Was this how Malfoy had intended to ‘guilt him straight to Hell’?

It was working — how could it be working if he’d announced it?   
This wasn’t Harry’s fault — none of it was.   
Malfoy’d just been fucking horrible about Tristan, and was now being fucking horrible about — well, his own potential reality. 

For fuck’s sake. 

Malfoy was a disgusting piece of work and he was punching _low_ — but then again, he seemed mental enough to _mean_ it, to some extent. 

How was Harry supposed to protectively monitor someone self-destructive?

…he could try asking for cooperation…   
He already had a monstrous situation on his hands, so what was the worst thing that could happen? That Malfoy would say ‘no’? 

“You could try not being horrible, you know,” Harry said, “For a few minutes?”

That warped wry smile appeared on Malfoy mouth again and it didn’t remotely reach his eyes. “Could I?”

Harry sighed.

“Want to see something _really_ horrible?” Malfoy asked with some enthusiasm, sitting more upright in the bath.

Harry felt the hair in his neck rise — was Malfoy about to flash him or something?  
“I’m looking at you, aren’t I?” He said. 

Malfoy’s eyes seemed to sparkle more fiercely, but he didn’t otherwise react.

Why the fuck had he told Harry to ‘bite back’ if this was how he responded? Was that just for Wednesdays or something? 

Malfoy continued to look at him, apparently actually awaiting an answer.

Considering the things Malfoy mistook for casual conversation nowadays, Harry decided it was best to decline.   
“No,” He said, and was surprised when Malfoy’s face became a shade paler.

Malfoy turned in the bath, his feet now where he sat before, once again properly shielded by the glamour, his black-ish shoulder visible.

Harry relaxed a little and let his mind wander.

Malfoy had been upset about what Quiesko had said about his dad, but he had also been making light of it himself — or… _kind of_ , at least.   
Would the situation with Tristan be the same? Would the reality have been… less-horrible?

Harry sighed, annoyed. He didn’t want to have to see a memory to find out and he hoped he wouldn’t need to.   
He just had to talk to Tristan about this to find out what had really happened. 

Harry trusted him not to lie or warp the situation, unlike Malfoy, who’d gone a little warped himself.

He really would benefit from a mindhealer. 

…and they couldn’t afford to get him one? 

…while living in a manor covered in silverware?

“So… if you’re so poor…” Harry said, stroking his hands over his face and then adjusting his glasses. “Why don’t you just sell some silver or something?”

Malfoy sighed, but he seemed serious. “Haven’t you heard? There was a war. If it’s not tainted by Residue, it’s tainted by association.” 

“…Nazi memorabilia is still sought after,” Harry said, a little uncomfortable. He never thought he’d use _that_ to make someone feel better.

Then he wondered whether Malfoy knew what Nazis were. 

Malfoy looked off into the distance for a moment, then had another swig. “Mother was trying to sell some things, I think… Or — buying potions ingredients, not sure.” He swigged again. “Either way, I’m sure your Patronus drew attention to her.” 

“I _had_ to get her!” Harry said, frustrated. “You were having a fucking breakdown!”

“ _So_?” Malfoy snapped back. “Let me _be_! _One_ onlooker isn’t enough? I need _more_ of an audience?”

“No, you need _help_!” 

“I need privacy,” Malfoy said haughtily.

“You _said_ you were going to guilt me straight to Hell,” Harry said admonishingly. “I’m not going to give you the chance.”

There was a brief silence.

 **!** “Why not?” Malfoy asked, serious. “Do you — does _anyone_ need me for… anything?”

 **!** Harry had been pretty sure that Malfoy wanted to off himself… But he hadn’t expected this kind of confirmation.   
Realising that they were talking about the same thing made him feel cold.   
“…your mum…?” He said, unsure of how it was a response, let alone whether it was an appropriate one.

“Right, of course. I’ll marry some _girl_ I have any chance of meeting — have you tried waltzing with one arm?” Malfoy briefly became malicious but then resorted back to bitterness. “But all right, the dowry will assure my Mother’s well-being. And _then_? A child cannot be called an ‘heir’ if this cursed rubble is all that is lined up for them — ” He interrupted himself, frustrated — _fuming_.   
He huffed a few times, as if to prepare to hold his breath.   
“Why would I bring anyone into this?” He then snapped. 

The question hung in the air, demanding an answer.

Harry didn’t have one.  
He’d been thinking that his mum would miss him… He hadn’t considered the whole posh family inheritance thing.   
Then again, she’d bloody struck him, hadn’t she? She’d seemed sorry, but… If that was a habit…

“You’ll be all right,” He said, insisting to convince them both. 

“No I won’t.” Malfoy snarled, then took another swig.

“Not with _that_ attitude,” Harry said wryly.

Malfoy chuckled.   
There was also the sound of liquid hitting the water — had he spat some of his drink?

Harry grinned.

He couldn’t remember whether he’d ever heard a non-mental non-malicious laugh from him before.

 _Interrogation tactics_ popped up once more.   
If they could have a laugh together it would forge a bond, however superficially, which would then help draw out information later.

…he hated how so many of the things he’d learnt made normal interactions look like ploys. 

It felt manipulative… It _was_ … but Harry had to remember who he was dealing with. 

It was for a good cause.

…and it wasn’t like he was lying.

“So… I’ve got to ask…” Harry started, genuinely curious. 

Malfoy turned to him.

“Tristan’s been… ’after me’? Really?” He felt like he was throwing Tristan under the bus, but then again… He’d told _Malfoy_ , apparently.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Malfoy sounded like he was grinning, took a swig and cleared his throat dramatically.   
Then he said in a decent imitation of Tristan’s drawling drunk-sounding Maine accent:  
 _“I don’t think Harry even knows I’m gay though I’ve been hittin’ on him since I met him._ ”

Harry laughed incredulously — those were words he’d _never_ expected to hear from Malfoy’s mouth, let alone with an accent. 

…Tristan had winked at him an awful lot though, hadn’t he? 

‘ _Aurorin’ 101 Harry; just look_ ’

 _How_ had he missed it?

Regardless, he was a little relieved to hear Malfoy chuckle too.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Harry asked just to keep the conversation going.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Malfoy sounded only _mildly_ condescending. “People know whether they want what’s offered to them, so obliviousness is genuine disinterest.”   
He paused for a moment. “Besides — “ He sighed, raising the bottle to his mouth. “Ignorance is the kindest rejection.” 

He took another swig.

Okay, _that_ sounded as if it came from experience.

Malfoy was clearly in a chatty mood and Harry wanted to prolong that, tactically or not.   
He was a little worried that getting into the topics that interested him most would make the conversation a fucking struggle again though. 

He decided on keeping things semi-superficial for now. He had over ten hours of shift to look forward to today, there would be plenty of time.   
“Okay… something else I‘ve been wondering… Is morning time drinking a posh people thing?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Alcohol both preserves _and_ disinfects, Potter, I’ll leave you to decipher which I’m attempting.”

“Bit of both? Maybe?”

Malfoy raised the bottle as if to toast to him.  
  
Narcissa appeared in the doorway. She took a slow step — it was the kind of step people only took when they began moving after standing still.  
Her eye was healed and she held a bundle of dittany. 

How much of their conversation had she heard?

She looked at Harry gratefully. 

Then she soundlessly walked in and placed the dittany on the silver table on the bed. It looked like a bouquet beside the teapot.

“I hadn’t expected you to deviate from a proffered dichotomy — you’re not as thick as you seem, you know,” Malfoy said casually, apparently unaware of her presence. 

Harry made a sound of incredulity but kept his eyes on her, distracted.

Narcissa pressed her lips together and pulled the corners of her mouth back, an expression of reassurance. She soundlessly moved away then, charming the blood away from the floor once she went through the door.   
There she held her elbows as her eyes glittered.

“I seem thick to you?” Harry asked, amused at the claim, his eyes still on her. 

“Well, you did suffer a head wound as an infant… something like that is bound to leave a mark.” Malfoy said in his usual tone.

It had been a while since Harry had last heard it.

‘Thank you’, Narcissa mouthed before pressing her lips together. 

Then she silently closed the door in front of her.


	13. Monitoring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Horrible unwanted voyeurism, unwanted pet names, and other condescension. This made me feel kind of gross. _Me_. So… Yeah. Be warned. Of course there are bold exclamation marks! Oh and Happy New Year!**

Harry had thrown the dittany over to Malfoy on his request and had sat down again, trying not to stare.

Malfoy picked off some of the leaves as if they were beneath him, then ate them.

Harry could see through the glamour that he then poured some liquor over the end of his stump, rinsed it off with _Aguamenti_ , then crushed up some of the dittany and pressed it on.   
  
Just being able to watch him without being ‘caught’ was… bizarre.   
Would he ever get used to it? 

“You are _just_ monitoring?” Malfoy asked.

“Yeah?” Harry responded, feeling caught. He hadn’t even logged the spell yet.

“…any chance you could make yourself useful, instead?”

“Uh… Sure?” Harry said.

“Vanity unit, top shelf.”

Harry grinned a bit. “Are you describing yourself?”

It was quiet for a moment. 

“No,” Malfoy said, but he sounded somewhat amused. “There is a vanity unit in the bathroom,— ”

Harry snorted.

“Never mind,” Malfoy said curtly, then got the dittany off his stump and picked up his wand. A fresh bandage hovered over to him.  
  
“Hey,” Harry said, feeling bad. “Sorry, I would have.” 

Malfoy ignored him.  
He made a loop in the bandage which he tied with his teeth, rolled it down his stump and adjusted it. Then he placed the dittany back on and wrapped the bandage carefully, pressing the crushed leaves in place.   
He then cast a sticking charm, which didn’t stick the right way, apparently, because he needed two more tries.

The log hadn’t mentioned the amount of sticking charms that Harry had seen him use already.   
As he logged what he ought to, he wondered whether he should ask about that. 

…maybe not immediately, it might be a touchy subject.

_Just like everything else._

“I thought _essence_ of dittany was used for this kind of stuff,” Harry said, hoping to restore the atmosphere.

“We’ve run out,” Malfoy said huffily. “And it takes a long time to make.”

“I though maybe you had some alternative way to — ”

“Anything _alternative_ I do is involuntary — didn’t I tell you that there is nothing as wasteful as undue change?”

“Is that a saying?” Harry asked, interested.

Malfoy sighed, annoyed, then got up. He hovered a towel towards himself and wrapped it around his waist.   
Because his ‘bad’ side was towards the glamour, Harry could see he kept moving his stump as if it was helping. 

Malfoy stepped out of the bath and cast a drying charm on both himself and the floor.

The swirls of his mum’s blood that had floated on the water now lay there as if they were part of the marbling.   
Malfoy sighed and cast a cleaning charm. 

It didn’t do much. 

He rolled his eyes and walked out of sight, presumably to get dressed.

_26.11.1998, 09:23 - Charge cast cleaning charm_  
_26.11.1998, 09:25 - Charge hovered clothing towards self_

It was 09:42 now and Malfoy was still moving around out of sight in the bathroom.  
Harry had clicked the FieldScroll open and shut a few times just to enjoy the sound, but even that was losing its appeal.

“You all right in there?” He asked.   
After the words left his mouth he realised that there was a loo there, too, and he hoped he hadn’t interrupted anything. 

_Merlin, this was awkward._

“Have you got somewhere to be?” Malfoy snapped.   
It sounded vicious, but not embarrassed.

_Good._

“Sorry, got bored,” Harry turned back to Malfoy’s bookshelf. “Wasn’t I in a rush to assess your gross furniture?”  
The sooner he got that sorted out, the better.

“You _are_ , just — …” Malfoy said through gritted teeth. “Quality takes _time_.” 

Harry wondered whether he should ask whether Malfoy needed help, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be condescending.  
“Okay,” He said instead, “… _vanity unit_.”

“…I _will_ hex you,” Malfoy said quite seriously.

“And I _will_ log it,” Harry responded, grinning. 

The silence recommenced, punctuated by brisk adjustments of cloth.   
Then: “…I’ve had three hours of sleep, a heart attack and I’m drunk…”  
He sounded miffed.

“So this is an _average_ Thursday then?” Harry asked.

Malfoy sighed and stepped into sight again, fully dressed in black.   
He’d even put shoes on. 

_Who the fuck put their shoes on in the bathroom?_

He looked at the floor and moved his tongue over his teeth without parting his lips.   
Then he stepped over the threshold, turned, and cast _Aguamenti_ on the tiles. 

The floor was now wetter than before.

Malfoy sighed. “I’m going to need sodium hypochlorite,” He said, then looked at Harry as if he expected something.

“What?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy nodded at the FieldScroll.   
“Quarter to ten, charge cast _Aguamenti_ — go on,” He put his wand up his sleeve with a twirl. “Waiting.”

Harry logged the charm. 

“Be grateful for my patience, I could have marched out and left you scrambling.”

“Cheers,” Harry said. As far as he was concerned he was the only one who’d needed any patience so far. 

Malfoy did a little upwards nod when Harry pocketed the FieldScroll, then went to cross his arms and caught himself.   
He turned and briskly opened the door — the opposite of a slam.

He marched further down the hallway, to a door at the end of it. There he paused. 

“Potter…” He said, trailing off darkly.

“…yeah?”  
  
“I demand the utmost respect.”

“What?”

Malfoy paused for a moment and then turned to him, dead serious.   
“The _utmost_ respect. Understood?”

“I don’t — I mean… Respect; sure, but… What’s going on? What’s in there?”

Malfoy looked exhausted. “You need a Pensieve to look at the memory, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” Harry said slowly.

“…this is my Father’s office.” Malfoy said stiffly. “I demand the utmost respect.”

Harry felt his eyes widen. ”Yeah… Of course. I eh… ” Why was he so nervous? The guy was _dead_. “I thought Pensieves were usually buried with — ”

“Your colleagues were kind enough to _empty it_ when they popped over for Dark Artifacts.”

_Wait, what?_

”They took anything they thought we might care to keep.” Malfoy spat the words, eyes blazing. “… in their _perquisition_ , the… _Bildersturm_ …“ His face contorted in bitterness.   
“Father and I were in Azkaban at the time while Mother was here, alone with them…” His words were full of implications.  
  
“I could watch the memory at headquarters…” Harry said, his voice purposefully steady.

Malfoy’s gaze burned through him. 

It gave Harry chills. 

“Trying to postpone being _useful_?” Malfoy spat. “You would rather spend another shift admiring the architecture? Who knows what your poor Tristan will get up to before you finally decide to do your duty.”

“ _Hey_!”

“This is the most efficient way for you to get to work, his memories are _gone_ and sentimentality won’t get us anywhere.” His eyes had watered but the venom hadn’t wavered. “Now — I demand your _respect_.” 

“All right!” Harry said, still bristling at the Tristan remark. “Don’t be a _dick_.”

Malfoy nodded curtly, then turned back to the door. He took a deep breath.

“…are we waiting for something?” Harry asked after a few seconds.

“I haven’t been here, since…” Malfoy trailed off, then took another breath. 

“Oh,” Harry said, then remembered something. “Eh… I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“No you’re not,” Malfoy said softly, then reached for the door handle. 

“I am! I — ”

“Ssh,” Malfoy said as he swung the door open, then stepped in.

There was a dark wooden desk facing the door, an inkwell and quill placed at its edge, its green leather writing surface clear.  
To the right were shelves lined with tomes, some as wide as a fist. There were items there too, little metal moving things, but placed sparingly between the books as if they were there for decoration. 

There was a rectangular chandelier on the ceiling, hanging high, beset with jade.   
A thick carpet lay on the dark wooden floor like velvety moss.

Behind the desk were high windows covered with delicate white semitransparent curtains. Dark green velvet ones were tied neatly to the sides. 

On the wall were rectangles where the panelling looked darker — portraits must have hung there in the past.

Harry stepped over the threshold, following Malfoy.   
Neither of them breathed. 

Behind the door, to the right, was a hook carrying a light travelling cloak.   
To the left, beside the doorway against the wall, was an enormous grandfather clock, with little planets and phases of the moon made out of different metals. It ticked rhythmically, but didn’t limit itself to seconds.

There was a fireplace at the left of the desk, a low one, with a tall and decorated mirror above it that angled down.  
Besides the fireplace was a book case, and in its centre was a wooden panel. 

Harry was fairly certain that that’s where the Pensieve would be, since he didn’t see a place for it elsewhere.

Malfoy had quietly walked over to the desk and stood in front of it, as if summoned, next to a green leather chair.  
He extended a hand and gently touched the wood with two fingers, stroking it as if to check it for splinters. 

He didn’t otherwise move. 

“…hey,” Harry said softly after giving him a moment. 

Malfoy dropped his arm and exhaled — or sagged, rather, and turned towards the panel. 

His lip quivered as he stood there, looking lost and distant.

Then he seemed to catch himself and straightened up, his face becoming neutral.   
He marched over to the wood and touched it at the far side, between the shelves. The panel turned away and revealed an alcove that had a silver and violet pedestal in it, on which the Pensieve hovered. It, too, looked like it was made of silver — on the inside. The outside was matte violet, and above it was a mirror. 

Malfoy looked at the Pensieve, then at the mirror, and averted his eyes. He turned away entirely and went over to the chair in front of the desk. There he stiffly sat down, very upright.  
  
This room made Harry uncomfortable. There was tension in the air and it smelled musky and a bit like lavender.

He got the vial out and released the memory into the bowl.  
Then he leaned over to look into it. He could already see the emerald green of the bathtub.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asked, scandalised.

“…going to look at the memory…?” Harry responded, looking at him through the mirror.

“Is that your special Auror school method?“ Malfoy asked flatly.

“What do you mean?” Harry turned to him, a bit annoyed.

“…this is not the time for jokes.” He looked serious.

“I’m not —…” Harry started, but Malfoy gave him a _look_. “ _What_?”

“You’re serious?” Malfoy asked incredulously. “A _fingertip_ , Potter.” 

  
…where had Harry gotten the idea he was supposed to submerge his face in it?

…

Dumbledore hadn’t corrected him that first time… 

…he’d probably found it amusing…

Harry blushed ferociously.

How many times had he looked at memories during training? Fuck, what had his colleagues thought when — 

_Not now._

He didn’t have time for this.

“…right. Okay.” He sighed as he turned back to the Pensieve. “Thanks,” He said, looking into the basin.

“Of course, _Auror_ Potter.”  
Was Malfoy intentionally getting Harry’s work-brain switched on?

Well, he _was_ about to look at a very private memory, wasn’t he?

_Just get the info, it’ll be fine._

Harry leaned a fingertip into the swirly liquid, and felt his mind be tugged along. 

When his sight cleared he found himself in Malfoy’s bathroom doorway. 

A peacock called from outside, in the darkness, audible through the opened window. There were other sounds too, men’s voices. Many of them, indistinguishable.   
  
Bellatrix was on the sofa, sitting on her lower back with her feet on the edge of the table and her knees apart. She was using her tongue to pick something out from between her teeth as she twirled a singular hair around her wand, apparently fascinated by it.

Greyback was in _That Chair_ and he slowly extended his legs over the bathroom threshold, reaching through Harry’s ankle.  
Bellatrix cast something nonverbal on him. “Eh-eh!” She called, as if he was a misbehaving pet.

He withdrew with an annoyed groan.

Malfoy stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. His black shirt was buttoned up uncomfortably high and compared to how he looked nowadays, he struck Harry as a beacon of health.   
Harry turned back to Greyback, who was leaning to the side in an attempt to catch a glimpse and then made some clicking noises as if ushering an animal.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who looked almost as green as his sink.   
He grabbed the sides of it and looked down, trembling, eyes wide.

Harry was a bit taken aback by seeing him with two arms — he hadn’t realised how much he’d gotten used to just the one.

“Don’t dawdle Draco, I have _plans_ this evening,” Bellatrix called.

Harry jumped and looked at her.   
She was now twirling her wand in her hair, blowing air from puffed cheeks. 

**!** There was movement beside him — he turned to it and saw Malfoy had begun to undress, panic plain on his face. 

Harry looked away, struck.  
  
_How_ had he not realised how uncomfortable this was going to be?  
He turned away and saw Greyback again, beginning to smile very unpleasantly.

Oh yeah, he could smell _the flavours of discomfort_ , couldn’t he? 

Fuck, he couldn’t allow this to — …

It was a memory. 

It was a fucking _memory_. 

There was nothing he could do.

Harry was used to having to run, to the risk of attack, or even mortal peril.

He wasn’t used to… ‘this’. 

As Malfoy continued to undress, Harry focused on Greyback who seemed lazily amused.

Suddenly he let out the disgusting derisive laugh that Harry had heard earlier.   
“There he is…” He said in a low voice, before continuing the tongue clicking.

 **!** Harry turned back, mortified, and saw Malfoy get in the bath behind the glamour. He was white as a sheet and wrapped his arms around his legs, becoming as small as he could.

 **!** The clicking sounds didn’t let up until Greyback asked “Is the little puppy shy…?”   
Then he continued, clearly amused.

Bellatrix apparently only held him in check physically — she didn’t comment on what he said.  
It wasn’t like Harry had expected her to be considerate, but he _had_ expected a little more from her towards her own family. 

No wonder Narcissa wasn’t able to do this.   
Harry could hardly stomach it, and they weren’t even _his_ relatives.

Malfoy sat more normally and got cleaned up as quickly as he could. He held his wand the entire time. 

He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? 

He could clean himself by the sink, but it’d take three times the effort and if Greyback would just… _march in_ , there’d be little to defend him.   
Cleaning charms could be horrible skin irritants if they were used too much, and what other options were there? 

Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy going around stinking of sweat. 

**!** Greyback made a mock-pitying groan that went on too long for comfort, and Malfoy shuddered so thoroughly that it seemed to sway the glamour.   
Then Greyback inhaled deeply, as if someone had just presented him with his favourite food. “You’re so _scared_ …” He growled with a grin. 

Harry wanted to vomit.

“Don’t be scared Draco, it’s just his eyes,” Bellatrix said impatiently. “You’re done? All clean?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, and Harry could hear the strain in his voice. 

**!** “Nah…” Greyback said. “You’re still a bit dirty, aren’t you?” His exhale was voiced through his grin. “Just a little…” He chuckled.

Bellatrix sighed, annoyed.

Malfoy went to make himself small again, wrapping his arms around his knees, but then caught himself and got up. 

**!** Greyback chuckled again and clicked a bit more. “Shake a bit, come on…” He growled.

Malfoy ignored him and went back to the far side of the bathroom.

Harry looked away, choosing to look at Greyback instead.   
He had leaned forward and looked like he was about to get up, but Bellatrix screeched as she jinxed him. He snarled at her but sat back and scooted forward, not crossing the threshold. Then he clicked his fucking tongue again.

From the periphery of his sight Harry could tell that Malfoy was at least wearing underwear, and chose to look at him instead.   
He wanted to punch Greyback too much to be able to look at him for another second — he might accidentally punch the mirror above the Pensieve. 

Malfoy had put on his trousers and gripped the edges of the sink, trembling, looking down. He was breathing heavily. A red blotch had appeared in his neck, resembling one of those inkblot tests. 

He grabbed his wand and briefly held it with two hands, as if he was about to snap it, but then his nostrils flared and he looked at his reflection, _livid_.   
Then he briskly put on his unbuttoned black blouse and adjusted the sleeves.

The silver scars on his torso caught Harry’s eye.

As if a tornado of razors had come too close. 

Had _he_ done that?

He must have done that.

…was Malfoy showing him this intentionally?

He looked back at Malfoy’s face. 

“Is the puppy mad…?” Greyback asked before making that fucking sound again, and Malfoy’s eyes shone as he pulled the corners of his mouth back in a snarl. He buttoned up his blouse as his shoulders and eyes twitched.   
Then he exhaled slowly, put his wand up his sleeve and took another deep breath.

He closed his eyes.

Greyback’s clicking didn’t stop and Bellatrix sighed impatiently.

Suddenly Malfoy opened his eyes and made a face at the mirror, a challenging look, before grinning at himself. 

His lip trembled, but only for a second. 

Then he walked towards Greyback.

“You smell good,” The monster said, but Bellatrix jinxed the chair aside with him in it so that Malfoy could pass.

The memory faded out. 

Harry’s sight prickled back and he looked into his own eyes, in the mirror. Then he looked beside himself, at Malfoy’s reflection.

He was in the chair he’d taken earlier and he’d pulled up a knee. His arm leaned on it and he was swirling his wand downward, doodling baby blue lines in the air.   
It was strange to see him with one arm, but Harry was especially shocked to realise again how skinny he was.

How many hours had he spent with him? He hadn’t seen him consume _anything_ , had he?

…Harry felt a bit sick too, after seeing that.  
“…okay,” He said, making a point not to turn around. “Was that… representative?”

Malfoy nodded, peered up, and then said “Yes.” He sounded resigned.  
His eyes looked unnaturally pale contrasted with the bags underneath them.

“I didn’t… look.” Harry said, feeling awkward. Malfoy probably thought he did _regardless_ of what he said.

Malfoy shrugged. 

“The eh… Scars…” He started, still looking at Malfoy through the mirror.

No response.

“I’m sorry.”

Malfoy shrugged again, looking down now, still doodling loops.

“I er… I’ve seen the memory, so…” Harry turned around. “We can go?”

Malfoy nodded, sighed, and unfolded himself. When he moved forwards, the lines he’d drawn disappeared like smoke.

He looked absolutely miserable. 

“Want to get breakfast?” Harry asked.

“I’ve had dittany.”

“…health salad?” Harry looked at him, amused… — _trying_ to be amused. There was something swirling in the pit of his abdomen and he wanted to punch something… but not Malfoy, for a change.

Malfoy looked at him, but his expression was hard to make out. “Salad has dressing, Potter…”

“Right, so you had rabbit food.” Harry said as he went to leave the room. “Are you a rabbit?”

Malfoy followed him, uncomfortable and confused. “What are you — ” 

“It’s a simple question.” Harry stopped in the hallway and turned to him. “Are you a rabbit?”

“…no. I am _not_ a rabbit.” 

“Yeah, you’re human, right?”

Malfoy seemed taken aback, then nodded a single time. “…obviously…” He said, as he closed the door behind him.

“Right. So we need to get you some human food.” Harry managed a smile and continued down the hall. “Come on.” 


	14. Different

Harry lead them to the still fragile looking stairs.   
The daylight made them look more brittle. 

He wasn’t sure where he was going to get Malfoy any food — he didn’t know whether there was any in the manor.   
…the idea of ‘Malfoy without money’ was still a bit hard to process.

Malfoy had hovered ‘food items’, apparently, but Harry had no idea where he’d gotten them from. 

He also hadn’t considered how he was going to have any meals himself during work hours here. 

His time with the Dursleys had made him quite used to going without, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.   
Was there protocol for meals during monitoring shifts? 

Training had only mentioned how to deal with charges and any ‘incidents’ that might occur, it hadn’t mentioned whether a charge was supposed to feed him. 

He had been taken out of some classes early though, like when Death Eater bodies had been found, or right after he’d gotten his Order of Merlin and he’d been summoned so Important People could talk to him.

How would his colleagues have dealt with this?   
Would they have just taken stuff from their charge’s storage? 

Or would they have brought something for themselves?

Probably the latter.

Why hadn’t he thought to ask Tristan?

Regardless, he could hardly drag Malfoy to a bloody restaurant, could he? Any wizard present would stare _at least_ , and he reckoned Malfoy’d had quite enough of that… But a Muggle place wouldn’t be much better. 

Malfoy would probably have something to say about it… Or lose his fucking mind again.

Not to mention that they’d have to be tethered together in public areas.

Yeah, Malfoy was ‘free’… 

_…like a fox during a hunt._

There was only one thing for it:  
“We’re gonna go out for a bit,” Harry said casually when he reached the bottom of the stairs. 

He heard Malfoy’s footsteps pause, then continue.

“Don’t worry, okay, we’re not going anywhere public.”

Malfoy reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at him, guarded.   
“…what if I refuse?”

Harry pressed his lips together. “You’d be missing out,” He said, a little worried he’d have to think of something else. 

“…on what?”

“That would be telling,” Harry said, resigning himself to having to tell him.

To his surprise Malfoy gave a small nod. He, too, seemed resigned to something. “…I’ll tell my Mother goodbye.”

“You will be coming back, you know.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as if he was unimpressed, but the expression was half-hearted. 

Harry considered whether to suggest Narcissa should come along, but he decided against it. Even though both she and Malfoy looked like they needed a break from this place, only one of them was his charge.  
Besides, they seemed to need a break from each other, too.

Malfoy went to the door underneath the stairs and knocked. “Mother?” He asked.

Harry followed, a bit weary. He didn’t much fancy finding a new way to get stuck there.   
There was a distant reply but he couldn’t make it out. 

Malfoy opened the door and walked in, not looking back at Harry. He went down the ramp and Harry followed, pressing his lips together. 

_If Malfoy would get him stuck again he would_ —… he was being petulant. 

It was Greyback he really wanted to have a go at, but he was in Azkaban.

“Mother,” Malfoy said as he turned the corner at the bottom of the ramp.   
“I’ll be out.”

“Oh.” Narcissa said after a few seconds.

Harry turned the corner too and saw that the square table was covered in ingredients again. Only one cauldron was on this time, and she put down a ladle with a pouring lip, then stoppered the bottle she’d apparently just filled.

“I’ve made you more Draught of Peace,” She said. Then she went over to him, placed it in his hand, and adjusted his collar. He stood there and ignored her. “Any idea when you’ll return?” She asked.

When Malfoy didn’t respond, she turned to Harry. 

Harry nodded. “Maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour or two… Don’t worry, he’ll be back in one piece.”

Her eyes widened. 

…she didn’t think he could magic an arm out of nowhere, did they?

“I mean…” He sighed, “Like this, but… You know… _Fed_.” 

She nodded, her expression softened and she looked back at her son.   
“Good,” She said, smiling.   
It seemed genuine.

Malfoy sighed and pocketed the bottle she’d given him. 

When she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek he moved away — walked by her, leaving her frozen, looking shaken.   
Then she straightened up as if nothing had happened. 

Harry passed by her too, awkwardly, and mumbled ‘bye’ over his shoulder as he followed Malfoy.

They went through the black liquid-looking doorway on the far wall, from which he’d seen Narcissa appear last time he’d been here.  
It didn’t feel like he’d passed through anything at all - was the blackness only visual? 

Harry wanted to look back, to see whether it looked black from the inside, too, but didn’t much fancy getting stuck.

They were in a storage area of sorts, the walkway lined with shelves on both sides.   
On the left, in the middle, the path branched off towards more shelves. There were jars, jugs, and ingredients on all of them. Harry spotted some lemons, limes and even a bunch of potted herbs.  
A little cloud of the golden firefly-like things hovered over them, but most of the light came from along the top edge of the walls. 

Malfoy walked straight ahead, going up a flight of stairs that cornered to the right. There was another doorless archway that led them to the kitchen.

Malfoy walked out, into the dining room.   
It still smelled unhealthy here.

“Why didn’t we take this route the other day?” Harry asked, “Did you _want_ to lock me up in your brewing room?”

Malfoy sighed and marched on, quicker now.   
Harry spotted the movement of the Professor Burbage manifestation on the long table again, but had to rush to keep up.

When Malfoy reached the door to the hallway he paused, leaning his shoulder against the frame.   
He was panting.

Harry went past him, into the empty-feeling hallway again, to be able to see his face. 

Malfoy looked exhausted. 

“You all right?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy panted and shook his head, but it was in annoyance rather than in response.   
“There are many…” He breathed, “ _manifestations_.”

“I thought it was just Professor Burbage?” Harry asked, deciding not to comment on the state Malfoy was in. 

He’d said he ‘tired easily’ and that he got ‘knocked out if he got wound up’, didn’t he?

…how had he even… _anythinged_ … with Tristan? 

Had he lied?

Harry filed the thought away — he had to get some food in him. Starvation couldn’t be helping anything and regardless — this was _particularly_ uncomfortable to think about.

He instead focused on what would be the best way to travel.  
Malfoy’s wand had been blocked from Apparition, and Harry wondered whether side-along might physically be too much.   
But what other options were there? 

The Floo? 

Would that be any better?

Malfoy shook his head. “Busy there,” He said, still panting, “Don’t like it.” 

Harry nodded. “Right. Okay.” He considered for a moment. “Are you okay to Apparate?”

“Hm,” Malfoy said, straightening up and inhaling deeply. His breathing seemed under control again but he looked pale and exhausted. “Yes,” He sighed. “There’s a shield.”

He pushed himself off the door frame and went over to the front door, moving his wand as if he was going to throw it upwards.   
The two-storey high doors soundlessly swung outward.

They passed through. 

Somehow the marble plateau they now stood on felt less open and bare than the hallway… as if they had stepped inside rather than out.

Malfoy carelessly pointed his wand over his shoulder and the doors swung shut. 

It felt very _final_.

The broad …chariot way? was covered in a thin layer of snow and the low shrubs looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in — well, months. Some bits of green peeked through but most of them were twigs reaching for the sky, as if suffocating under the whiteness.   
They were planted in symmetrical maze-like patterns, though the section on the right had a dried up fountain with scorch marks and the one on the left had a cracked pedestal with snow-covered rubble at its base. 

In the distance were higher shrubs, more like a proper hedge, imposing but barren, and two white pillars stood tall besides the road.   
One carried the bottom half of a statue. 

The other carried scorch marks.  
  
It was cold outside. 

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who slowly shut his eyes. 

He exhaled small clouds that were hardly visible in front of his face.

“I’m taking you to 12 Grimmauld place,” Harry said. It felt a bit weird to tell him so casually, but then again — he didn’t want to let on how big of a deal it was.

Besides, who was Malfoy going to try to tell? 

Some of Harry’s _fans_? 

…as if they would let him finish a sentence.

“Ready?” Harry asked, extending an arm. 

Malfoy took it, the palm of his hand on the back of Harry’s wrist, but didn’t otherwise respond. 

He felt cold — almost as cold as the air.

* * *

  
There was a small section of the rooftop terrace where Apparition was possible for those who knew the address, and the two of them appeared there. 

Malfoy’s face was lighter than his hair - the little blue vein in his cheek looked more alive than the rest of him. 

“Come in,” Harry said, opening the door and letting him go first. 

“Downstairs,” Harry said, and Malfoy turned left to go down the stairs. Harry was tempted to tell him not to fall, but he didn’t feel like being snarled at.

He could always cast _Levicorpus_ if he thought it necessary. 

Malfoy slowly glided down the stairs, looking weightless, graceful, as if this was his fairy tale castle or something. 

Harry went after him, making an effort not to walk into him. 

“My Mother grew up here,” Malfoy said as he reached the ground floor and looked around. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry said. He hadn’t thought about that. 

…somehow he didn’t think Malfoy would mention this to his mum, though. At least not soon.

Harry passed by him and gestured to the right. “Kitchen,” He said, then went to the room in question.   
He opened the door and led Malfoy in. 

The kitchen counters covered the left and the far side, and there was a dining table which functioned as an impromptu breakfast bar.  
There were three chairs — there had been four, but he’d put one on top of the piano in the living room so he could clean the ceiling lamp properly. 

He hoped Malfoy wasn’t going to see that. He might have another heart attack.

“Sit down,” Harry said, and went to the fridge. 

He had insisted on having one, and the electricity had been a hassle to figure out. Hermione had been very enthused about The Project though, and it had taken the two of them nearly a month to get all the appliances working properly. 

Last he heard, Arthur hadn’t yet managed to convince Molly to get some in their kitchen, too. 

Harry got Molly’s baking dish out and put it in the oven, which he then turned on.   
He reckoned twenty minutes to half an hour should do — he had considered to just Apparate back after getting it, but he didn’t want to risk Malfoy passing out. 

It’d be awkward.

Malfoy had taken a chair and watched him silently, without expression, without comment.

“Drink?” Harry asked.

No response. Was Malfoy playing deaf?

“Would you like a drink?” He asked again.

“What do you have to offer?” Malfoy drawled.

Harry looked in the fridge again — he wasn’t going to offer him anything alcoholic.

“Eh… Orange juice, milk… Water… Tea and coffee,” He said, closing the fridge again. 

“Milk.”

Harry chuckled and Malfoy gave him a pointed look.

“Sorry — I hadn’t expected that,” Harry said, a little incredulous. He got out a mug and poured him some, then placed it in front of him.

It was one of the mugs Arthur had enthusiastically given him. There was a picture of the Spice Girls on it, with a Union Jack in the background.

Malfoy looked at it with a blank expression and then slowly blinked at it. 

Harry watched him for a few seconds. “What, do you only drink from crockery with silver on it?”

Malfoy glared at him. “It’s broken.”

Harry picked it up and looked at it. It hadn’t leaked on the table and he couldn’t discover any chips or cracks. 

“The _picture_ , Potter. They’ve frozen.”

“Oh,” Harry laughed. “It’s er — not supposed to move.” He set it back down, amused. “It’s a Muggle mug.”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. “Right. Trying to make some kind of point?”

“Maybe?” Harry shrugged and put a kettle on _the Muggle way._  
“They’re a girl group,” Harry said, as he looked for the tea.  
  
Ginny put it somewhere else each time she was here, and Harry was starting to think it was intentional.

“I can see that,” Malfoy drawled, unimpressed.

“No, I mean — they’re singers,” Harry narrowed his eyes and thought. “One of them goes by Posh Spice — can you guess which one?”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow again and looked at the mug. He hadn’t touched it yet. “…the one who knows how to control her face.” He said in a finalising tone. “Why is the thick-looking one depicted in her negligé?”

“Sorry?” Harry asked, pausing his search.

“The blond, she’s standing around in her sleepwear. Does she _know_?” Malfoy huffed. “And the one with the ponytail is in her underwear too, isn’t she.” He looked Harry dead in the eyes. “Is there a reason you’re trying to make me drink from this _filth_?”

Harry laughed a bit, and opened another cupboard.

“It’s not filth, it’s just a mug, they’re singers, and I’m pretty sure they knew they would be ‘depicted’ like that.” He grinned as he checked behind another door. “You’ve _never_ seen them before? They’re all over the place.”

“…obviously not.” Malfoy said dryly.

Then Harry found the tea, standing in a saucepan triumphantly.   
_Thanks, Gin._

“If you like I could see if I can find some of their music for you,” Harry said, grinning at the prospect of the manor ringing with ‘Spice Up Your Life’.

Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. “…as long as you keep it away from the drawing room.”  
  
Harry smiled and put a teabag in his own mug, but then stifled a snort. It had a different picture of the Spice Girls on it — why were they suddenly hilarious? 

Malfoy still hadn’t touched his drink.

“There’s nothing wrong with the milk, you know,” Harry said, leaning his back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil. 

Malfoy pointedly reached for the mug and smelled its contents, then looked ahead as if trying to work something out. He slowly, _suspiciously_ took a sip — a small one, and put the mug down. 

Harry watched in amazement. “What — can you taste that the cow wasn’t fed on emeralds?” He asked incredulously.

Malfoy looked at him blankly and scooted the mug away with the back of his hand.   
“Coffee, please.” 

“Okay, rude.” Harry took the mug and looked into it — the milk looked fine, as did the mug. It didn’t smell funny, either. “ _If_ you tell me what’s wrong with it.” 

Malfoy looked him in the eyes defiantly. “Never mind then.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Harry said, a bit annoyed but mostly amazed. “Are you being difficult for the sake of it?”

“No.” It sounded firm.

Harry chuckled incredulously. “Right, I don’t want to know you when you’re being difficult, do I?”

“And you _do_ otherwise?” Malfoy regarded him curiously. 

Harry felt strangely caught by that. “Sure, why not?”

Malfoy continued to look at him for a few more seconds and then shrugged. “So you are particularly interested in these _Spice Girls_ , are you?”   
He asked it with disdain.

“No,” Harry chuckled, ”Arthur gave them to me. Arthur Weasley,” He clarified, though when he did he was pretty sure that Malfoy would have been able to work that out. 

“And he is particularly smitten with them?”

Harry grinned. “Don’t think so actually. Gave them away, didn’t he?” He watched Malfoy’s face — he didn’t really think that’s how merchandise worked, did he?

Malfoy continued to look unimpressed. 

The kettle boiled and Harry poured water over the teabag, then poured some of the milk from Malfoy’s mug into it. He could feel the _gaze of judgement_ in his back.

“…dairy doesn’t last in the manor…” Malfoy started flatly. 

“Oh?” Harry put coffee in the coffee machine. 

“…milk curdles within minutes.” 

“Residue?”

“Hm.” It sounded affirmative. 

“This milk isn’t curdled,” Harry said, as he put the coffee machine on and sat down at the head of the table.   
He had been about to sit opposite Malfoy, but he didn’t want to subconsciously prep him for antagonism.

_Thank you, Interrogation Tactics_.

“Hm,” Malfoy did a little upwards nod.

“So what’s wrong with it?” 

“Nothing.”

“Then why didn’t you drink it? Just felt like being wasteful?” Harry realised he sounded admonishing and reeled himself back in.   
He still felt combative after witnessing that memory and decided to try humour instead: “Or did the girls in their underwear put you off it?”

Malfoy gave him a _dark_ look that lasted a bit longer than Harry’d expected.

“I’m sure _the milk_ is fine, Potter.” He said, somehow suddenly, sounding venomous.

Their eyes were locked together and Harry refused to back down — he mentally _dared_ Malfoy to try something. 

The coffee machine behind him began to make its spluttering noise. 

Malfoy ignored it. “…I just can’t _taste it_ over the _rot_ of my _arm_.”

Harry remembered the smell during Tristan’s ‘sneaky little autopsy’ some months ago and grimaced.   
It really hadn’t been pleasant. 

“Fuck.” He said. 

Malfoy pulled the corners of his mouth back. 

“Didn’t St Mungo’s — ?”

“The answer is probably ‘no’.” Malfoy said it calmly but steadily. “All they did was prevent me from dying.” 

“So they didn’t tell you anything about how to…” Harry nodded at Malfoy, “…deal with…” He nodded at him again. “You know.”

“They told me to put a sock on it,” Malfoy spat. 

Harry snorted but choked on it when he saw the fierce spark in his eyes.   
The red inkblot-like blotch appeared in his neck and that vein in his face seemed to move a little, too. 

“…a sock.” Malfoy whispered, nostrils flaring. 

He took a breath, relaxed his face, then briefly gazed at the woodgrain of the table “…and that I should be grateful I was the only one to live, because that had made me _interesting enough to make the effort_.”

Harry was careful not to respond, and Malfoy got his fucked up sardonic expression again as he looked him in the eyes. 

“Yes, _Harry Potter_. _I’m_ the only one who lived.” His wry grin split open his face as his eyes widened. “Perhaps when you’re done cleaning Dark Lord sludge, I’ll let you queue for my autograph.”

Harry laughed a bit, more in incredulity than in amusement. “Okay, cool.”

The wry grin on Malfoy’s face got a hint of gratitude.  
“…good.” He said, with a small finalising nod. 

The coffee machine filled the silence and Harry sipped his tea, wondering what to say.   
The awkwardness was rapidly increasing.

“Does this house feel different?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded.   
  
…if he would have made that an open question, they would be having a conversation now. 

“How different?” Harry asked, feeling a bit silly.

“…is there a particular scale on which you want me to express this, or should I just keep my arms apart?” Malfoy asked.

That wasn’t how Harry had meant the question, but all right then. At least they were talking.   
“…on a scale from zero to red?” He asked.

Malfoy glared at him. “ _Triangle_.” Then he sighed. “I’ll answer the question you _intended_ to ask to save you the embarrassment…; This house feels healthy but starving.”

“Starving?” 

“Nobody really lives here.“ 

“I do?” Harry asked.   
The coffee machine changed its noise and Harry got up to get Malfoy his _second_ drink. 

He got him a clean mug — a plain one, then changed his mind and got him another Spice Girls one instead. He grinned at himself as he poured the coffee. He only had _five_ of them.

“Hm, sure… There is literature on it somewhere.” Malfoy said casually. “ _Living begets life_ , you know, some drivel about… ‘heeding hearth of servitude’.” 

Harry placed the mug in front of him and sat down again. “I haven’t heard that before…” He considered it. “Sounds nice.”

“Homes are supposed to be,” Malfoy said, casual still, then took the mug and smelled the coffee.   
He looked relieved. 

“Approved?”

Malfoy took a small sip, just as careful as before. Then he blinked rapidly a few times. “This is going to make my hair stand on end,” He said with a grimace.

Suddenly Harry realised he’d scooped enough coffee to make a full pot, but he’d added water for a single cup. “Fuck, sorry,” He said as he got up. “I’ll make you a new one.”

“No, no,” Malfoy said, amused, leaning back as if to get out of his reach. “This will do quite nicely. I prefer my _espresso_ quadrupled.” He pronounced the word the Italian way and took a demonstrative sip.

“I don’t know if the casserole will be okay,” Harry said when its smell began to reach him. “It’s really good, but… You know. Not as strong as quadrupled espresso.”

Malfoy shrugged. “…is it a _common_ brunch dish where you’re from?”

“…asks the guy who was having _liquor from a bottle_ at nine in the morning.”

Malfoy responded by making a little cheers gesture with his mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“Ooh it’s so domestic!”- my beta**


	15. Insight

Silence reigned and they had about ten minutes to go until the food was done. 

Harry really wanted to know what on earth Malfoy had been thinking with Tristan and the bloody chair, but figured it was better to try to keep things lighthearted.  
He didn’t much feel like having some sort of escalation _here_ , since returning him to the manor unconscious would make for an awkward moment with Narcissa.

Besides, maybe Harry could casually gather some insight into the nonsense that was Malfoy.

“When’s the last time you were out?” He asked, casting his net wide and hoping to catch something useful. 

Malfoy had been drinking his coffee and made eye contact over the rim of the mug. It said SPICE in coloured letters, each of them depicting a different Girl.   
When he finished his sip he lowered his hand, not breaking eye contact.  
He didn’t look like he was going to answer. 

“Why do you ignore harmless questions?”

“Anything can be weaponised.” Malfoy slowly raised his chin as if to look down on him in preparation.

The effect was rather ruined by him holding the mug, even if it was standing on the table. 

Harry grinned. “Anything?”

Malfoy nodded.

“Even your favourite colour?” Harry was interested. This was definitely some insight into his mental-ness.

“…people can be manipulated by their preferences, and subtlety and efficiency go hand in hand.”

Harry was reminded of _Interrogation Tactics_ but tried not to engage with that thought.   
“Why would someone want to manipulate you?” 

“The world wants me dead, someone might get creative.”

“…with your favourite colour?” Harry tried to remain casual.

“…they could make me warm up to them, invest in winning my trust. A favourite colour won’t do much in itself, but everything else being equal, it might sway me. Say — a hypothetical person spends a great deal of their time interacting with me, discusses ‘shared interests’, and begins wearing an item of clothing in that colour… and if I don’t know that they _know_ , I might not be fully aware of it, but I’ll be slightly more fond than I might otherwise have been. Then they might ‘up their game’ and gift me something in said colour, claim they prefer it too, or mention things that are blue… “

That could have come straight from the _Interrogation Tactics_ reader.   
Harry had begun to grin and Malfoy gave him an admonishing look, so he tried to get his face back to polite interest. 

Malfoy continued. “ _Such as the sky_ , bodies of water, you know. Again, it wouldn’t be enough _in itself_ , but it might just be enough to tip the balance. Besides, if they employ other interests and preferences as well, it might make me more likely to cave under the duress.”

“…‘cave under the duress’? Of friendliness?” Harry knew exactly what Malfoy was saying, but he wanted to know the scope of his suspicion and he wasn’t sure how else to get there. 

Malfoy gave a small firm nod. “…whilst laughing behind my back and struggling not to do so in my face.”

“Okay, this person is a dick…” Harry sipped his tea. “And then? Are they going to kill you with blue?”

“Of course not. But there is more than one way to kill someone…” He got all wry and sardonic again. “…and I’m not talking about murder.”

Harry considered that as he had another sip.

Malfoy kept his eyes on him and sipped his hideously strong coffee.

“…you get on well with Johnny though, don’t you?” Harry asked, as he mentally insisted he was just making conversation.

Malfoy’s face froze and something seemed to ‘shut’ behind his eyes. He slowly lowered the SPICE mug.

“Sorry…” Harry asked, having a sip of tea to look busy as he thought. “Is er… is he your… you know…?” 

There was no response so Harry finished the question anyway. “…boyfriend?”

Malfoy silently looked at him, a shade or two paler than before. 

Just when Harry decided that it was time to change the topic, the answer came. “Auror d’Errico is married, Potter.”

The unceasing expressionless stare was freaking Harry out a bit.  
”Oh,” He said, a bit too quickly perhaps. “That’s nice. So er…” He cleared his throat and realised that Malfoy’s response hadn’t actually been an answer.   
  
_Interesting_.

“How come you trust him, then?” Harry asked. He knew Johnny had apparently been somewhat ‘in Malfoy’s favour’ from the start, but he had no idea why.

“Why would you think that I do?” Malfoy’s tone seemed casual again.

“Well, you were speaking Italian — ”

“And that’s the language of _trust_ , is it?” Malfoy cut in.

“I don’t know? Maybe?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was getting defensive. “He put his hand on you, didn’t he? And he told you to Floo him.”

“A language, a Floo call and a pat on the arm is all it takes, is it?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking.” Harry got up to check on the casserole.

“Hm… You ask entirely too much.” Malfoy said before taking another sip from the SPICE mug.

“I’m making chitchat, okay?” Harry said as he looked into the oven.

“Don’t.”

Harry opened the oven door and poked a knife into a casserole. “Don’t?” He asked, then got the knife out. “You’d rather sit in silence?” He held the flat side against the back of his hand to test the temperature, and decided the food was hot enough so he got the oven mitts.

Malfoy watched silently as Harry got out plates, cutlery, and placed the baking dish on the table.  
“…you are aware that you’re a wizard?” He drawled when Harry sat back down again.

He’d taken another seat — the one across from Malfoy. Not because he wanted to antagonise, but because he usually sat there and he’d been too distracted by the smell of Molly’s cooking to think straight. “Yes.”  
He scooted his chair forwards and looked at him again. It was weird to have _Malfoy_ there rather than one of his friends.

…it was also weird that this counted as _work_.  
  
“…why would you choose to do things by hand —” Malfoy began haughtily, but he seemed to catch himself “…when you have a wand?” He sounded tense.

“It’s what I’m used to,” Harry said, deciding not to get into the whole hand-situation and keeping things neutral for the time being.

“You don’t er… pray before meals or anything nowadays, do you?” Harry asked, thinking of Carter, especially. There were a few of the MACUSA lot that did and it had created a few awkward situations in the break room.

He didn’t actually expect that Malfoy did though — the main reason he’d mentioned it was because a change of topic was welcome. 

Malfoy’s twisted wry grin returned and he sat more upright, moving his fucked up left shoulder a little as if to draw attention to it.   
Harry resigned to hearing something horrible. 

“Thank you, _Lord_ , for blessing me…” 

The way he’d intoned it made the room feel cold.

His grin became a little wryer. “Isn’t there another one…? Hm… Father, who art in heaven…” Then he scoffed and his eyes shone. “…I prefer to be influenced by what I _know_ to affect me.”

Harry had expected digs of some kind… this had been relatively… _respectful._   
He responded with a little noise of acknowledgement rather than with words, just to be safe, and plated up for both of them.

  
Malfoy had prodded the casserole on his plate with his fork and had taken a few small bites.  
A bite of pepper, a bite of mince, a bite of cheese and a singular bit of pasta. 

Then he’d picked out small pieces, raising them on his fork to look at them, before placing them back on the plate and prodding around some more.

Harry couldn’t help watching — he was right in front of him.

“Did you prepare this?” Malfoy asked, studying a piece of pepper covered in sauce.

“No,” Harry said.

Malfoy gave him an odd look. “You certainly trust whoever _did_.”   
It sounded like an accusation.

Harry looked at his own plate and back at Malfoy. “I mean — obviously.”  
  
Malfoy nodded as if in thought, then ate what was on his fork. He showed no enthusiasm but no disgust either — he looked as if he was trying to work out something theoretical. 

“…do you like it?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged. 

“Molly Weasley cooked it,” Harry felt mildly victorious, but also realised he was bracing himself.   
Malfoy hadn’t asked - was Harry trying to provoke him? 

“Hm,” Malfoy said, surveying a tiny piece of onion on the left prong of his fork. “She killed my aunt.” 

It sounded casual.

Harry nodded carefully.   
He didn’t much fancy cutlery being _brandished_ at him, but he didn’t like Malfoy’s tone… even though it had been neutral.

“…she killed my godfather,” Harry said into the silence, suddenly feeling tense. “Which is how I got the house.”

“Yes, yes,” Malfoy sounded bored. “You won.”  
He prodded the food some more — he’d had about half a tablespoon worth of it in total. 

“Did you get on with her? With Bellatrix?” Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy shrugged his ‘bad’ shoulder after a few seconds. “I owe her quite a lot.”

“Yeah…” Harry said, remembering the memory he’d seen. 

He wanted to break something again and might have stabbed his food with more fervour than it deserved.

Was there any way he could apply _Deescalation Tactics_ to himself?

…perhaps he could vent some of his frustration subtly if he made it ridiculous.  
“Why do you like blue?” He asked with some aggression. 

Malfoy cocked his head to the side. “…is that not allowed?”

“No, you can only like green.” Harry said firmly, then stabbed his food again.   
This situation was stupid — why couldn’t he just not be angry?

“…have you gone a little mad…?” Malfoy asked, sounding a bit like his aunt.

It wasn’t helping. 

“Not as mad as you, I’m sure.”

“It’s not a _contest_ , Potter…” Malfoy trailed off, but he seemed serious.  
He’d narrowed his eyes and looked at Harry as if he was searching for something.

“ _What_?” Harry snapped after a few seconds.

“…what would you do if you owned the world?” Malfoy asked, then raised another piece of pepper on his fork to look at it. “As some… omnipotent monarch, or a deity… how would you make it the best it can be?”

“…what?” 

“Did I stutter?”

“No, but… How do you mean ‘own the world’?”

Malfoy seemed a bit miffed. “I know in a sense you already _do_ , but it’s a hypothetical situation.” He looked at him admonishingly. “Interpret it however you please, that’s part of it.”

“…part of what?”

“The question.” Malfoy finally ate the piece of pepper he’d held up. It had passed some sort of test, apparently.

Harry considered it for a bit. “I guess I’d… revoke ownership?”

“…you would be able to do absolutely everything - rearrange continents, reorganise politics, solve all crises and cure all ailments, but you would _politely decline_?” 

Harry caught himself beginning to grin but reeled it back in. “Eh… yeah. That’s what I said.” 

“You’re not going to stop all diseases and establish world peace and other such things?”

“Okay, sure.” Harry nodded. “It’s decided. Nobody can get sick anymore and everybody’s happy.”

“All right… Very noble…“ Malfoy prodded his food a bit. “…but now it’s overpopulated.”

“I’ll make it bigger.”

“…are you going to inflate the planet’s physical bulk so everything is further apart? Or… would you rather increase the size of everything here so it takes up a bit more space in the universe? Because if you choose the latter, it doesn’t solve anything apart from that Your Holiness might no longer need glasses to see it.”

Harry grinned. “I choose both. There’s space for good stuff and everyone is healthy and it’s literally great.”

Malfoy made a face as if he’d made a good point. “…this would be a fair and just world, too?”

Harry nodded. “Obviously.”

“Would there be discrimination based on colour?”

“Obviously _not_.” Harry became a bit more guarded.

Was Malfoy a Muggle-style racist, too? 

That made the situation with Tristan even _more_ disturbing.

Malfoy nodded, apparently considering this. “…so your ideal world would be fair, just, healthy, bigger, _and_ exempt from discrimination based on colour… and you agree that we must all strive for our ideals, don’t you?” He gestured with his fork, twirled it around a bit and looked at it as he spoke. 

“…yeah…”

“…then _why_ am I not allowed to like the colour blue?” Malfoy’s eyes snapped to his and he pointed a bit of mince at him, confronting him with it. 

Harry laughed — incredulous, but mostly relieved. “ _That’s_ where you were going with that?”

Malfoy hadn’t moved but the gleam in his eyes was victorious. 

“Right, okay, _fine_. You’re allowed to like it.” Harry said as if he was condoning it and Malfoy nodded curtly before taking a bite. 

Harry grinned. “And you? Any specific plans with ‘the world’?”  
…then he realised he’d just asked _a Death Eater_ this question, and resigned himself to hearing something horrible.

“I would dispose of those hideous American accents, for a start.” Malfoy said viciously. “Every single one of them sounds as if the speaker has a deficiency of some sort, either in the jaw or in the _mind_.”

“…this has been bothering you for a while, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea.” Malfoy’s nostrils flared. 

“…and what will you do with it once the accents are gone?” Harry asked. 

“I’d kill the whole thing with fire,” Malfoy said viciously, stabbing a noodle with his fork.   
He’d had about a tablespoon worth of food by now.

Harry remembered the Room of Requirement and a shudder went down his neck.   
“…bit violent.”

“There are _Spice Girls_ on it, Potter. There’s no saving it.”

Harry snorted. “They’re not a _plague_.”

“You said they were ‘all over the place’ — what am I supposed to think?” He ate the noodle as if to emphasise the point.

“Yeah, as a media sensation.”

“Too bad.” Malfoy shrugged. “It’s gone.”

Harry chuckled. “Okay. So now what?”

“Hm,” Malfoy sighed as he considered it, soundlessly placing his fork beside the plate.   
“In the Middle Ages they believed that the Earth is where it is and that gravity exists the way it does, because there is a force of attraction in this part of the universe.”   
He looked as if he was squinting to read something off the cupboard.

Harry suspected he needed to catch his breath after a sentence that long.  
  
Malfoy continued: “Matter clumped together through its pull and because its strength is consistent in all directions, the world is round.”

“…I thought people in the Middle Ages thought the world was flat.” 

Malfoy looked at him with condescending exasperation. “That’s Early Modern gossip.” 

“Is it?” Harry laughed. “Okay, sure.” 

“Perhaps the ignorant believed that, but the people with access to _knowledge_ were quite taken with The Philosopher’s ideas.”

“…you want me to ask who The Philosopher is, don’t you?”

Malfoy shrugged, took his SPICE mug, angled it to look into it and put it back down.   
Then he looked blankly at Harry.

“Oh _I’m_ sorry — would you like some more to drink?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“I am omnipotent, be grateful you have the opportunity to serve me.” Malfoy sounded serious.

Harry laughed. “Sure, _Your Holiness_.” He got up and took the mug. “More quadruple coffee?”

“Water.” Malfoy angled his face to the side and did a little eyebrow movement. 

Harry got up and took the mug to the counter, then considered whether to get him a glass. 

  
He placed the rinsed out mug filled with water on the table. 

Malfoy looked at it and then back at Harry as if he’d seen him spit in it.  
“ _Really_?” He sounded scandalised.

Harry shrugged and sat back down, pleased with himself.

“I’m a _guest_ ,” Malfoy bit through gritted teeth. 

“Are you actually mad about a Spice Girls mug?”

Malfoy took a quivering breath and his mouth became small. He did look genuinely angry.

“…you prefer the Union Jack one? I can rinse it out for you.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but the rage seemed to have mellowed a little. He just seemed annoyed now.

“…didn’t want to ‘unduly change‘ something, did I?” Harry grinned. ”Since all alternative things are involun— ”

“I shan’t speak with you anymore.” Malfoy snapped.

“Oh come on,” Harry said, amused, still teasing.

“This is _exactly_ what I meant.” Malfoy snapped, teeth gritted.

“I’m not using it against you,” Harry said incredulously. “Can’t you tell the difference between ‘messing about’ and an _attack_?”

Malfoy continued to look at him with the exact same expression. He didn’t otherwise respond. 

“…you don’t think this is a bit…” Harry paused, wondering if this would escalate the situation.   
Then he decided he wouldn’t mind if it did.   
“…childish?” 

“It’s _childish_ to have _standards_?”

“No, it’s childish to have something offered to you, and throwing a fit over the way it’s presented.” He looked at the mug and back at Malfoy. “Very bloody ungrateful, if you ask me.”   
Then Harry took it, poured its contents into the sink and cleared the rest of the table, too. 

This was mostly residual rage — or was Malfoy carrying Residue along somehow? 

Harry rinsed off the plates and stacked them.   
Then he turned back to Malfoy who still glared at him, eyes wide with fury. 

It was exactly how his dad had looked at Harry when he’d set Dobby free.

“I should be _grateful_ to you?” Malfoy said it nearly voicelessly, his breathing deep and controlled.   
He was livid.

Why was Harry more comfortable now? 

Had he _wanted_ a fight?

…then he realised he’d just turned his back on an armed war criminal.

_Constant vigilance_

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

“Malfoy, it’s a fucking mug, okay? Calm down.”

“ _Grateful_? Because you suddenly decided to _watch me_?” He seethed. “Did you think I would prefer _you_ over a stranger?” He intoned it as if Harry was something nasty. “Because if so, you are sorely _mistaken_.”

“You don’t keep them strangers for long,” Harry snapped back.

_Be professional_

He took a breath.   
“Have some Draught of Peace, okay?” 

Malfoy took the bottle out of his pocket and flung it to the side, not breaking eye contact. It shattered against the window sill and its silver white contents dripped down uselessly.

Harry’d drawn his wand at the crash and then pointed it at him. 

They stared into each other’s eyes for a tense few seconds, and then Malfoy began to grin.

“…are you going to cast _Incarcerous_ on me?”

“I might do; tie you up like the worm you are and take you back to your mum.” Harry swallowed, blood boiling. “She seemed _fond_.”

Malfoy cocked his head to the side but his expression didn’t change.  
“If you use that _tartare_ spell of yours again, you might achieve your goal more efficiently,” He said, eyes glittering with malice.

“What?” Harry asked, distracted from his anger.

“Cut me up, Potter. You’ve done it before.” He bit his lip. “I do prefer silver over black…”

Harry lowered his wand, feeling sick to his stomach.   
“I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not? _I_ won’t tell anyone…” Malfoy put on a mocking thinking expression. ”Though come to think of it… They would probably _thank_ you for completing _the Purge_ … and then you could clean the manor without distraction and keep my Mother company.”

Harry put his wand away.  
“I’m taking you back.”

“Oh, there’s no need for _that_ … We’re having a wonderful time, here in her childhood home…” Malfoy cocked his head to the other side.

_Fuck’s sake._

Harry took a deep breath.  
“I’m sorry, okay? I was being a dick.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, then sat more normal. Some of the malice seemed to leave him.   
“ _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_ ,” He said, before giving Harry an odd look.

Harry scoffed. “Seriously?”

Malfoy continued to look at him as if there had been no response at all.

“You told me to bite back, didn’t you?” Harry asked curiously.

“Bite _back_ — the implication is that I go _first_.”

“…about a mug though? You get this upset about a bloody mug?”

“It’s not right.” Malfoy said seriously.

“This is _my_ home, okay?” Harry said, but Malfoy stiffened at that.

“Yes yes, you _won_.”

“No, I mean — I do things differently and this is _my_ …“ He didn’t want to rub in that he owned his mum’s childhood home again. “ — you’re with me now. So dumb shit like _the receptacle you drink from_ is something you’re just gonna have to deal with.”

“Dealing, dealing…” Malfoy raised his hand as if to show his innocence, then placed it on the edge of the table.

He’d moved his stump along and looked at where his left hand would have been, had it mirrored the right. 

“Coffee?” Harry asked, starting to fill the machine again, glad to have a reason to turn away. 

“I’ll have tea, thanks.” Ginny said from the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **”No; get out the way Ginny. No I like you but fuck off please.” - My beta**


	16. Revoked

Ginny wore the Quidditch gear she’d left in the bedroom, and Harry remembered her telling him this morning that she’d come pick it up later.   
He’d had no idea when ‘later’ was, and had entirely neglected to consider it. 

That might not be so strange, considering the amount of things that’d happened after — the tense situation with Tristan, Malfoy’s stump-bumping breakdown, and seeing the memory…

…it was still negligent of him, though. 

_Unprofessional._

Ginny looked at Malfoy’s face and her eyes moved down, to where his arm ended. Then she looked at his face again.   
“Hi,” She said, sounding tense but not unfriendly. 

Malfoy gave a little nod. 

“Hey Gin,” Harry refilled the kettle and put it on, then looked at her a bit more intensely than was probably warranted. He hadn’t heard any footsteps, so she must have cast a silencing charm on her feet like he’d told her he’d learnt in training.

He looked at her feet and back at her face.

“I heard a crash,” She responded, giving Harry a mildly challenging look as she went over to him. 

_…fair enough._

Harry got a mug out for her - a Spice Girls one, and hoped it would help relax the atmosphere once he handed it to her. 

“What happened?” She asked, looking at Harry meaningfully.

“A bottle broke… It’s fine,” He said, extending a hand to her forearm. 

The Draught of Peace still dripped down uselessly and Harry hoped she wouldn’t see it… bottles generally didn’t spontaneously break against window sills, and he didn’t want to have to explain the situation with Malfoy right there.

She tried to read his face and he smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“Working from home today?” She asked, then placed a hand on his chest and briefly kissed him on the lips. 

“M-hm,” He voiced before they parted and he nodded. “Just for a bit.”

Then she sat down where Harry’d sat before, straight across the table from Malfoy.   
  
“I thought you had practise?” Harry asked Ginny. 

“Yeah, in about an hour.”

Harry couldn’t see her face but he could see Malfoy’s — he was staring at her intently. 

“Bit weird, to have you here,” She said.

“Hm,” Malfoy responded. He’d moved his hand off the table and looked at her suspiciously. 

“You’re not on house arrest then?”  
She was trying.   
Harry could tell she’d taken a cue from him to be natural, but he _knew_ he was going to hear about this later.

…as were the other Weasleys.

Malfoy shook his head - it might as well have been a twitch.   
He didn’t otherwise respond, didn’t even pretend as if he was going to, and just continued to look at her. 

Ginny was asking closed questions, but Harry wondered whether Malfoy would have responded ‘properly’ if they had been open. He didn’t think pointing this out would help though; he’d be condescending to both of them at the same time.

“You’re not very chatty,” She said, and Harry could hear she was a bit miffed and trying not to show it. 

The two were literally face to face — if their stupid drinks would just be done he could sit down and be ‘natural’ and such. 

“There is nothing to say,” Malfoy said, tone measured.

“Isn’t there?” She sounded challenging.

Harry promptly sat down at the head of the table, hoping to distract them from each other. 

They didn’t break eye contact.

Harry sighed, hoping things wouldn’t escalate.   
He didn’t want Malfoy to have _another_ breakdown; it was only about noon and he’d have to be with him until eight. Besides, taking him here was intended as a favour, not as a way for things to be differently shit.  
“Anything in particular you’re going to tackle in practise?” He asked Ginny.  
  
Surely Quidditch was a safe enough topic…

It was an obvious distraction and he hoped they would let him get away with it. 

She slowly turned her head towards him, not averting her eyes.  
“Yeah, the Dionysus Dive…” She actually looked at Harry now, understanding but mildly exasperated. 

Then she looked back at Malfoy.   
“You’re familiar with it, right?” 

She intoned it as if she was expecting him to perform it in a minute. 

Malfoy’s mouth unfurled in a smile — his eyes didn’t have anything to do with it.  
“Yes.” He said, as if he was proudly admitting guilt. 

…Malfoy’d mentioned the bloody arm-attached-to-broomstick remark just this morning, hadn’t he?

Fuck, Harry had to think of something else to talk about.

“Do you still play?” Ginny asked in a more conversational tone. 

Quiesko’s impersonation of Malfoy came to mind.   
_‘I can’t play anymore, not properly’._

_How_ was this tenser than his first day in the field?

“With whom?” Malfoy responded sardonically.

Okay…   
That response wasn’t as uncomfortable as Harry had feared, but he expected trouble from the tone. 

The coffee machine changed its noise and Harry wondered whether tending to it would distract the two of them from each other or do the opposite.

“I don’t know, with Slytherins?” She asked.  
  
Malfoy pulled the corners of his mouth back, an expression between resignation and an imitation of a smile. It lasted for half a second and then his face was neutral again.  
“…my social life has been rather _deficient_ in recent months…” 

“But if you’re not under house arrest, you can definitely have guests, right?”

“The constant Auror presence has had somewhat of an adverse effect.”

“It’s the _Aurors’_ fault, is it?” She said in that teasing way Harry liked so much, but he was worried about the response.

“Clearly.” Malfoy paused a beat. “ _I’m_ innocence personified.”   
He’d said it so seriously that Harry snorted, and Ginny scoffed.

The kettle began to boil so Harry got up to get them their drinks. It seemed like a safe enough moment. 

“Sure you are,” She said, somewhat amused and a little more at ease. “Did you like my mum’s cooking?” 

Harry suspiciously wondered how she knew what they’d eaten, but then he realised the baking dish was on the stove.   
She would have had to make an effort to miss it.

_Why_ couldn’t he shake this… combat-mode? 

“No.” Malfoy sounded flat. 

Harry turned to look at his face and though it didn’t seem antagonistic, there was no sign of amicability either.  
He poured some water besides Ginny’s mug by accident.

“Oh,” Ginny said, interested and apparently surprised. “Is that because of who she is, or…?”

“She killed my aunt.”   
There was no tone to Malfoy’s voice.

Harry stiffened.   
Why didn’t he just say he couldn’t taste — or even that he didn’t _like_ the food?

Ginny took a moment to respond.   
“…who nearly killed me.” She sounded tense, explaining something delicate. 

Harry put their respective mugs in front of them and sat back down, struggling for something to say.   
“Okay, ehm — ”

He went ignored. 

Malfoy took his mug and leaned back, apparently comfortable for the first time since Ginny had entered.   
“You look well,” He said haughtily, briefly looking her up and down, snide in his tone. 

“You _don’t_ ,” She said, giving him a challenging look.   
She took her mug too, though she held it so firmly that it’d be a blunt force weapon any second.

Malfoy did a little cheers gesture and that wry grin appeared again. 

“Okay, Gin — ?” Harry looked at her, and her eyes snapped to him. “I’m sorry… I’m working.”

“Yes, ‘Gin’. I thought your family situation had prepared you for sharing someone’s attention.” Malfoy said, maliciously amused. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked. “You’re his _job_ — you should count yourself lucky he’s been assigned to you.”

Harry got a sinking feeling in his gut. 

“ _Assigned_ to me…?” Malfoy said mock-curiously and turned to him. “That is not what I have heard…”   
He cocked his head to the side like a bloody puppy, then took a sip without breaking eye contact.   
Harry gave him a warning look, was reminded of the memory and then felt sick to his stomach. 

It didn’t matter either way.

Malfoy’s eyes sparkled with malice and there didn’t seem to be any communication there. 

Just… madness.

“What have you heard then?” Ginny asked incredulously. “That he swooped in to save you? _Again_?” She jerked her head to the side as if too angry to shake it. “Fat chance.” 

“Oh, no no no no no…” Malfoy said condescendingly, turning back to Ginny and putting his mug down.   
“No, _I’ve_ been told that Hero Potter, Boy Who Lives, Order of Merlin _First Class_ , Saviour of the Wizarding World and _most. valuable. asset._ to the Auror Department…” — he paused to breathe — “…has _personally_ requested this placement from Robards.”

A very unpleasant grin had unfolded on his face. “And what _he_ requests, happens.” 

He turned back to Harry, slightly out of breath, still malicious.  
“Doesn’t it, Potter?”  
He did a little nod in which he raised his eyebrows briefly, too, emphasising that he was talking down to him. 

Ginny turned to Harry too, clearly expecting Malfoy to be corrected.

_Fuck._

Harry’s face burned and Ginny’s eyes widened. “It’s er… misunderstanding,” He started.

He hadn’t _lied_ … 

…he’d just been vague about the details.

“I heard some things _I told you about_ …” Harry gave Ginny a meaningful look. “So I _had_ to.”

Now it was Malfoy who looked at Harry somewhat curiously.

“Right,” Ginny said, looking from one to the other. “Okay.”   
She was miffed and turned to Malfoy as if to make a point.   
“And why _would_ he have requested this particular placement?” She asked him.

Malfoy turned to look at her conspiratorially. “…he wanted to prove himself… Learn some specialty skills…”

“…I thought he needed to protect you from your previous Auror detail?”

Malfoy guffawed and looked back at Harry. “Is that so…? You’re protecting me from that nasty, _nasty_ d’Errico, aren’t you? And that _horrible_ Wheeler — oh, the things he’s _done_ …”

Harry stood up, anger reignited. “Right — you’re going back.”

“I’m not under house arrest.” Malfoy drawled.

“No, but you’re not welcome here anymore. Invitation revoked.” Harry snapped, heated.

Ginny gave Harry a puzzled look. 

Malfoy took a sip from his SPICE mug and looked at him over the rim. 

_How_ had they ended up ganging up on him?

“In a rush?” Ginny asked it as an actual question.   
She seemed concerned.

“Yeah,” Harry said briskly, feeling his blood boil.

Malfoy had peered over at him and now looked back at Ginny. “I think he’s trying to get away from you.”

“Bit weird, since I’m his girlfriend,” She seemed uncertain about what to do with the situation.

Malfoy did a little sideways head gesture. “Hm.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said in his Auror tone. “With me. We’re leaving.”

Ginny pressed her lips together and gave Harry a questioning look. 

“He’s really got this situation under control, hasn’t he?” Malfoy said as he raised the mug to his lips. “ _Very_ competent.” He took another sip.

Harry fumed and wondered whether he should just grab Malfoy and drag him off. 

He definitely wanted to… but how would that look to Ginny?   
She’d wonder why he’d responded so strongly to something so apparently innocuous.

…she’d definitely think he was trying to ‘get back into the war’ then, wouldn’t she?

…was that what he was doing? 

He sat back down, confused and feeling like he’d lost something. 

“…that’s the mug you’re ‘dealing’ with?” Ginny asked Malfoy after a few beats.

…how much of their conversation had she overheard?

Also — _how_ had Malfoy deescalated the situation he created? 

Or rather — how had he managed to make Harry the only non-deescalated party?

Malfoy nodded and held the SPICE mug upright, turned to face it as he turned it towards himself, then looked forward and pointed the S with his index finger.   
“This is Posh Spice,” He said seriously. 

“ _Right_ ,” Ginny said emphatically. “Okay.” She frowned very briefly. “Ehm. I heard you play the piano?”

“Not anymore.” Malfoy said seriously, then looked straight ahead at the wall beside Ginny’s face and lowered the mug.

Harry looked at him curiously. 

Ginny saw that and turned back to Malfoy. “Harry said — ”

“He says many things.” Malfoy calmly took another sip.

“Why would you — ?” Harry started, confused. “I saw you play yesterday morning, did you give it up since then?”

Malfoy looked at him expressionlessly and didn’t otherwise respond.

“There’s a piano here, if you want to have a go?” Ginny suggested.

Malfoy’s eyes locked onto hers and his mouth became ‘set’, the first step towards a snarl.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Harry said, getting up again. “I’ll show you.”  
It might give him a chance to have a word with Ginny.

Malfoy glared ahead, his lips did some twitchy thing and then he briskly got up too.   
“I’ll just be your dancing monkey, then,” He said under his breath as he put his chair back at the table.

“You don’t _have_ to,” Harry said, frustrated.   
Would Malfoy really rather be in Death Manor with Quiesko provoking him? Because it sounded like he preferred it and honestly, Harry had half a mind to arrange it. 

It would solve just about everything bothering him right now.

“No, I would really like to play you something,” Malfoy sounded genuine and made the left half of his face smile, raising his lower eyelids as well. 

Harry was in front of him and glared him dead in the eyes. 

Ginny responded with a little smile of her own — a real one, if a bit hesitant, and stood up too.  
She clearly hadn’t seen how mental Malfoy was… though she might have had an inkling from the Posh Spice Mug Moment. 

“This way then,” Harry made an arm gesture and Malfoy obeyed it, thankfully.   
“Up the stairs and to the left — to the ‘drawing room’,” Harry said, walking behind him and catching up atop the stairs to open the door for him. 

It swung away with a small creak.

A black piano stood in sight, its lid closed, the fourth dining chair atop it from when Harry had cleaned the chandelier the other day. 

Harry went past the now-frozen Malfoy and lifted the chair off, placing it in front of the piano as if it was carrying an audience member. 

“All yours,” He said, gesturing at the instrument.   
Ginny took the chair he’d just put down and Harry stood behind her, resigning himself to not having a chat after all.

It seemed rude to talk in the line of sight of someone who played you something.

This piano hadn’t been used the way it ought to since Hermione had entertained Ron and him during the war, and she had only known a few melodies.   
It had been fun though, and Harry remembered it fondly.  
  
Malfoy took the piano bench with a sigh, then charmed the piano open.

He seemed miffed. 

His fingers went over the keys, pressing each one quickly, briefly, with _intent_ so that a cascade of sound washed towards them, low to high. Then he got out his wand, aimed it underneath the instrument and made a gentle forward loop, saying something under his breath.   
The piano hummed in approval. 

Malfoy then touched each key again — it sounded nicer but he apparently wasn’t satisfied yet — he went back to a certain section at the highest end.   
He stood up, looking inside the piano and repeated the wand movement.   
“ _Sonitus_ ,” He said and the piano hummed again, gentler this time.

Ginny looked at Harry as Malfoy sat down once more.  
“I’ll log that later,” Harry said softly, and she smiled.

Malfoy ignored them, adjusted his position, sighed, closed his eyes for a moment, and then his stump moved a little.

He nodded very gently to himself, eight times, before his right hand extended over the keys and played a melody, relatively quick but not _energetic_ , per se. 

Harry hadn’t heard this before, it sounded far less depressing than what he’d heard him play so far.

It was rather lovely. 

Then Malfoy paused, briefly, and repeated the melody — or played something incredibly similar, before he paused again… then he played it again… and again… He closed his eyes and seemed to take a brief break before moving to the higher section, playing a different melody that swelled somehow. 

It was gentle and hesitant, and Harry was surprised that it made him… _feel_ things.

The melody trailed higher and Harry realised he hadn’t breathed for a few seconds.   
It remained there, held them, performed a chapter, an afternoon in company and slowed down, hesitant… Still high, a different setting, a space beside the previous one, loops and swirls of little pings, a sense of connection — _re_ connecting to the previous bit, a social event? flowing gently, uninterrupted.

Malfoy went lower, provided solidity while repeating the melody, a gentle lull in conversation, then a skip — a flourish, and it became high again, mapping out an unseen world.  
The melody slowed, calmed down… a moment of hesitance but rising — reaching higher and … touching upon the previous part, there was _relief_ —   
It trailed up, higher still, rising to some unknowable precipice before cascading like a wave — the earlier melody repeated, striking differently due to its changed context, as if seen from a new light, and the flourishes ran like shivers down Harry’s neck.

The music flowed into a repetition, three-dimensional - nearly tangible, then suddenly high, it caught him by the throat and it seemed to intensify — trailed up, hesitant… _higher_ … Flourishes emphasising elegance, like laughter in conversation… carrying his mind along and placing him safely in a slow part, as if having breached a surface, the same pattern, same melody, calmer now, the silence before a gasp and then it trailed higher…

…hesitation… 

…… repetition…… 

  
………… _precipice_ …

  
A lower reiteration of the same pattern — as if more firm, _calmer_ , steadier, with more certainty … then trailing off higher, reaching some horizon before landing below once more.

Malfoy hadn’t touched half the keys since he’d begun playing but he reached the middle and there was a bit that sounded like a skip.   
A new ‘chapter’ began, unexpectedly high — Harry’s breath hitched and he placed a hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

The music sped up and seemed lighthearted, though there was something bitter in it — bittersweetness with a hint of something else.

Ginny placed her hand on Harry’s and he realised she was as caught as he was.

The earlier melody continued, slower, as if with renewed determination — then lowered, changed, returning to a previous part before trailing up again, steadiness increasing, as if with strengthened resolve. 

Malfoy raised his hand…… then lent it to the keys, fairly quickly, a repetition of what he’d played but recontextualised, as if performing the concept of a memory. Not a specific one but the sense of recollection, a translation to and from itself, and then the melody repeated, built, worked up to something yet unknown —

…there was a silence, tentative, and Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand.

Some high notes were struck gently, as if to capture a whisper.

…silence…

…a few more high notes… 

……then Malfoy raised his hand off the keys and sat back, more upright, and flexed his fingers before sighing deeply. 

He looked ‘set’.

  
…

  
Silence descended.

It took Harry a moment to adjust.

The room had begun to feel different, and now it felt as if people were taking their leave.

Had he stirred the familial residue?

“That was… beautiful,” Ginny said after a few seconds. 

Malfoy briefly pursed his lips — a displeased facial shrug.   
Then he got up and stared at them, expressionless.

“Why did you say you don’t play anymore?” Ginny asked. “You clearly do.”

Harry quickly wiped his eyes — to his surprise he hadn’t cried.

”I don’t.” Malfoy said flatly.

“Then what was this?” She asked, somewhat incredulous.

“A parody.” Malfoy spat. He went to cross his arms and caught himself. 

Ginny seemed taken aback — she’d not seen him do that before.

Malfoy blushed in his neck only and he seemed livid. 

Harry squeezed Ginny’s shoulder before letting go.  
“Oh come on, that was really nice.” He said, intentionally sounding mildly annoyed, hoping to withdraw attention from the arm-situation. 

“Why _thank_ you,” Malfoy snapped, face suddenly contorted in wryness, and he took a viciously sarcastic bow. “Are you done? Am I done? Can I go? Or haven’t I yet _compensated enough_ for your withdrawn hospitality?”

“Yeah, let’s get you back,” Harry said, resigned, miffed, before trailing a finger through Ginny’s hair and leaning over to peck her on the cheek.  
“Have a good practise yeah?” He said as he walked towards the door, following Malfoy, who had briskly marched out.

Harry extended a hand as a wave goodbye and Ginny copied the gesture, standing up and looking taken aback.  
  
Malfoy was going upstairs and Harry saw him try to cross his arms and catch himself again. Then he continued, holding the railing, not changing his pace.   
Once he reached the third floor landing he leaned his good shoulder against the wall and panted.

“You all right?” Harry asked, catching up with him without any trouble.

Malfoy moved his stump as if to gesture something, then caught himself, pushed himself off the wall and marched towards the rooftop terrace. 

He opened the door and stepped out, swayed, and seemed to catch his balance just on time. 

He didn’t seem all right and Harry had some questions, but he didn’t think staying here was a good idea.   
“Eh… side-along?” He asked, trying to treat the situation as if any part of it was normal. 

He felt the cold seep in through his clothes.

Malfoy didn’t turn but extended his hand as if someone ought to kiss it. 

Harry grinned a bit, took him by the top of the wrist, and brought him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The piece Draco played is Mariage d’Amour by Paul de Senneville.**


	17. Trespassing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for reference to previously mentioned dubious consent, it's exclamation marked.**

_26.11.1998, approx 12:00 - Charge cast Sonitus_   
_26.11.1998, approx 12:00 - Charge cast Sonitus again_

  
Harry’d had to ask Malfoy how to spell the charm’s incantation and he’d been surprised to receive an answer, even if it had just been a toneless spelling of the word.  
  
They were in the drawing room and Harry had surreptitiously taken a mint-coloured velvet chair. He’d gotten no bad feeling from it and had assumed that was a good thing.

The low fireplace roared and the scent and temperature it produced filled the room.

It took more than that to sway Harry, who was very weary of everything in this cursed building. The floor had felt like a ship at sea when he’d entered, though after he’d sat down he didn’t really notice that anymore.

Malfoy had taken up the asymmetrical sofa and placed both legs on it, one stretched out and the other knee up, leaning it against the back support that gradually diminished.

He was reading a book that had the colour of parchment, though Harry suspected it had originally been white. 

It wasn’t in English and he had stared at the plain black calligraphy for long enough to be able to make it out.   
_Neuere Mystik - Eine Untersuchung der okkulten Phänomene_  
There was a small pentagram in the middle, and near the bottom it said _Dargestellt von Bruno Grabinski_ in a slightly bolder font. There was a small circle underneath it, which contained a horizontal line with a W on it.   
The front cover carried a single black border as if to frame it, the back was plain, and the binding just said _Grabinski - Neuere Mystik_ with a plain black line at both the top and the bottom. 

It looked shockingly un-fancy.

Harry reckoned it was German and he recognised ‘mystic’, ‘occult’, ‘phenomena’ and the author’s name, but he wasn’t sure about the details.

Regardless, he’d had far too much time to study it.

In the first five minutes Malfoy had lowered the book to his abdomen and blankly looked ahead. Harry had seen there was just text on the pages, but he hadn’t been able to read it from the distance.

Then Malfoy had raised it and continued to read.

  
Initially when he’d needed to turn a page, he’d moved his stump uselessly, then put the book down to do it.  
After the first ten minutes he’d changed his posture, sat so low he was basically laying down, so the book stood on his abdomen and leaned against his raised leg. He’d placed his forearm on his forehead and combed his hair back every now and then, occasionally moving his lips as if repeating something to himself. 

  
When they’d first Apparated back Malfoy had collapsed — he’d sank to the ground, slowly, as if fighting it, and Harry had sat down too, promptly deciding he wanted to freeze his bottom on the marble plateau. 

He’d looked at the …chariot way? driveway? and wondered whether anyone was going to try to maintain the gardens at all.

He hadn’t asked Malfoy how he was doing, since that hadn’t given him any results so far.   
Besides, he wasn’t his nurse.

There was no nurse.

There was just his mum…

…who’d struck him just this morning.

Harry sighed. 

Had Malfoy really been pressured by Ginny and himself to play?   
It hadn’t been meant like that, he didn’t think they’d pushed, but the way Malfoy had responded made it seem as if he hadn’t been given a choice.

Come to think of it… Harry _could_ determine his fate by simply writing in his log.   
‘ _Charge implied fondness of Bellatrix Lestrange_ ’, ‘ _charge smashes bottle in domestic setting_ ’, and ‘ _charge claims to have employed Residue to overpower or assault Auror_ ’, for example… 

That last one might even get the manor burned down.

And Harry hadn’t even needed to think about those, they had all happened _today_.

Context wouldn’t matter, the ministry wouldn’t doubt _Harry Potter_. 

He’d known that, but he hadn’t fully realised how fucked the power dynamic was. 

If the Ministry doubted whether Malfoy was any better than before, the monitoring period would be extended.   
Harry was pretty sure they wouldn’t bother distinguishing between proactive and protective monitoring — it fit in the same log, after all, and it was administratively easier to just assign Aurors to him at all times.

So… Malfoy would be watched _continuously_ until September 2000…   
And considering the knife-brandishing he’d already done, it was likely to be extended.   
There was no reason for the Ministry to assume that ‘ _an accessory to terrorism and genocide, albeit with extenuating circumstances_ ’ could be a harmless member of society if he pointed knives at law enforcement.  
  
Harry was stuck with this duty until the monitoring was over, wasn’t he? 

Another Auror (who was not _Johnny_ ) might land Malfoy in the Thickey ward…  
…and that was the _best_ reasonable outcome. 

If the Ministry was sure that Malfoy was _no_ better, they would just lock him up.

And judging from how his stay in St. Mungo’s had been, he’d never be seen or heard from again.

_The Purge_ would be considered ‘over’… and Harry could come here and deal with the Manifestations if he wanted. 

…see Narcissa, probably still living in this Residue pit, because nobody would buy it from her and she was ‘financially ruined’…

_This isn’t school, Potter, this is_ my life _in which you’ve trodden.  
_

…as if it were dog shit.

  
…

It kind of was.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by a voiceless scoff.  
Malfoy was still on that asymmetrical sofa, though he’d put his left knee up and put his right ankle on top of it. He looked like he was about to have a nap.

“What?” Harry asked.

_“Es scheinen hier geheimnisvolle Kräfte im Spiele zu sein._ ” Malfoy said pretentiously, his forearm still on his forehead, eyes on the book.  
Harry didn’t notice an accent to his German. 

_…he probably knew what Nazis were._

“Is that funny?” Harry asked. 

“Hm,” Malfoy said, making a nod-like movement, faintly smiling without looking up. “Yes.”

“…you’re just showing off your _foreign_ , aren’t you?”

“…this was your chance to surprise me.”

Harry sighed. ”Go on then, what does it mean?”

“There appear to be mysterious forces at work here — or at _play_ , rather.” He grinned without looking away from the pages.

“…why is that funny?”

“They have no idea what they’re talking about.” Malfoy said, apparently pleased with himself.

Harry didn’t really see how that was funny, and looked at the side of the book again.   
It looked very un-fancy … but also incredibly un-magical.  
“…you’re reading a Muggle book?”

“Hm.” He gave a faint distracted nod.

“…why are you reading a Muggle book about occult stuff?”

”…for a laugh…” Malfoy said as he turned his attention to the next page.

“…I have questions…” Harry started, not sure whether the atmosphere between them was restored yet. 

Malfoy ignored him and moved his foot a bit.

Harry bristled. 

Initially he’d wanted to Assess the Chair, but now Tristan had involuntarily _done something_ with it, he needed to talk to him before he could do anything useful. He could of course talk to Malfoy about it too, but he felt like he’d beaten _that_ dead horse of a topic for long enough, at least for today. 

It was important to know what had formed a Manifestation though; if it wasn’t dealt with properly, its ‘leftovers’ would be next to impossible to get rid of, and it was tough enough without that kind of hassle. 

Efficiency would be best.

Sitting here and watching Malfoy read was incredibly boring… but starting on another manifestation didn’t appeal to Harry much. He preferred handling a single clusterfuck at a time.

“Where did you get it?” Harry asked in Auror tone, deciding this book was going to be his entertainment too.  
  
“…it has been gifted to me…” Malfoy drawled distractedly as he turned the page.  
  
“Okay… I’m sure you can guess what my follow-up question is.”

“Hm,” Malfoy intoned affirmatively. “…indeed.”

Nearly two minutes of silence.

Malfoy turned the page.

Harry sighed.

Malfoy clicked his tongue. “…so… the Auror department has thin walls, does it…?” He started, still distracted. 

“What?”

A few seconds of silence, then Malfoy clicked his tongue again. “…so sad…”

“What are you on about?”

“The writer had a bad relationship with his sister, then he suddenly got the… _idea_ to restore their bond… And she drowned promptly after, poor thing.”   
He didn’t sound remorseful.

“…that sucks…” Harry said suspiciously.

“Hm,” Malfoy nodded distractedly. “Tragic.”

“…what were you saying about the Auror department?”

“Hm?” Malfoy turned his face towards Harry a bit but didn’t immediately draw his eyes away from the book.

Harry looked at him admonishingly.

“…slipped my mind,” Malfoy turned his attention back. 

Harry sighed and wondered whether to push it. They had almost gotten along earlier, so this just seemed petty.  
 _Wasteful_.

Perhaps because it was ‘undue change’. 

“…you never did say what you were going to do with the world after you set it on fire,” Harry said, hoping to get into conversation again. 

“…oh yes…” Malfoy told his Muggle book. “…got sidetracked by you flaunting your ignorance.”

“I didn’t ‘flaunt’ anything.”

“…could have fooled me.”

Harry adjusted his position and sighed in exasperation. It had been a long day and he wasn’t even half way through _his second shift_.

“…just like how you flaunted your scar to get monitoring duty…” Malfoy continued.

Harry’s face burned and he opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy beat him to it.

“I need protection from your _colleagues_?” He snorted, amused. “I didn’t know the Auror department was in such a state, no integrity — which _does_ explain the incompetence on display.”

“…there is no ‘incompetence on display’.” Harry grumbled.

“Then how come ‘Gin’ can disclose what _you_ overhear in a professional setting?” Malfoy closed his book with his index finger between the pages and turned his head to look at Harry. “If I would have tried that with the Dark Lord, we would not be having this conversation.” 

“That’s —”   
_…a good point…_

_…though being a Death Eater was_ not _a profession…_

Harry took a deep breath.   
“…the Auror department isn’t run by Voldemort.”

“No, it’s run by _you._ ”

Harry bristled but decided not to bite. “So who told you then? _Johnny?_ ”

“Hm…” Malfoy opened his book again but Harry reckoned he wanted to have a reason to look away.   
He moved his index finger over the page as if to find his place. “…he asked me whether I wanted you to watch me and when I told him I didn’t, he tried to talk Robards out of it…”   
He shook his head a bit.   
“He said Robards ‘got his mind made up’, then had a go about you,” He said casually as he adjusted the position of his book. “I joined in… ‘t was fun.”

Harry felt the guilt returning with full force. “Look — I didn’t know you got along — ”

Malfoy huffed.

“I didn’t! How could I — ?”

“You could have _asked_.” Malfoy said with such sudden venom that it rendered Harry silent.

Malfoy took a breath, his mouth set. “Contrary to what my trial might have led you to believe, I am capable of _dissenting_.” He sounded firm now.

“…but nobody asks me anything these days, do they?” He said wistfully. “Apart from whether to play the Golden Couple something, which one cannot refuse once one is _trespassing_.”   
He snarled near the end, sighed, and shook his head a bit.

“…yeah about that… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

Malfoy huffed again.

“…it was really good though, really beautiful.”

Malfoy glared over the book at his own knee.

“…how come it sounded so different from when you play here?”

Harry was startled to see Malfoy’s lip tremble.

Thankfully it was brief.

“…would you like to venture a _guess_?” The venom in the response sounded forced. 

“…Residue, isn’t it…” Harry said, resigned to that being as specific as the answer was going to be.   
Perhaps when he got to Assessing the drawing room, it’d sound as good here as it did at Grimmauld.

“…your ignorance concerning Residue makes sense now I know it’s only an excuse for you to pester me.”

“That is _not_ why I’m here.”

_“Exactly_.”

“No, I mean — “ Harry might aswell tell him. There wasn’t going to be a better moment, was there?   
“I heard that you might… You know… Do something… to yourself? Probably before the year is up? And with how the trip to Malkins apparently went, I thought… ” Harry sighed. “Well… You know.”

“…Gin’s ‘fat chance’ was correct?” Malfoy exclaimed, madly amused. “Oh wonderful, I should thank her for getting this out of you!” He finished in Trelawney-like tones.

“…does this really amuse you?” Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, all levity gone. “…why can’t you just let me be?”

“…it wouldn’t be fair…?”

“To whom? Do you want to get back at me first?” 

“That’s not what I mean! And you _know_ that’s not what I’m like — …don’t you?”

Malfoy took a minute of silence.   
He looked at his book but his eyes didn’t move.  
“…familial residue is sensitive to blood… My Mother’s childhood home recognised me as kin and responded, strongly; it’s starving for life, like I said, nobody lives there.”

“…I live there.”

“It doesn’t think so.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that, but filed it away for now.  
“…so when you play _here_ it’s all… _Dark_ residue, yeah?”

“…not all.” Malfoy looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “Not all.”

“…so… what’s not dark…?” Harry asked carefully.

Then he realised Malfoy might mention what he’d done to Tristan and braced himself.  
 **!** He’d thought that that _Chair_ had been the most disturbing thing — he hadn’t considered that Malfoy might be _worse_ in the same regard.

…he was, wasn’t he?

Greyback had only _watched_.

Harry felt sick to his stomach and hoped Malfoy had lied. There was no way he could be out of breath from saying long sentences and walking stairs, yet have energy enough to… _do stuff_.   
It didn’t make sense.

“…there have been many gatherings here…” Malfoy began, and Harry breathed again.

“…to me they are… _ongoing_.”  
Malfoy sighed deeply.  
“If you continue your ‘assessment’, you will find that a lot of the Manifestations are… _infused_ … with particular… individuals…” 

“…right…” Harry said when he was sure Malfoy wasn’t going to continue of his own accord.

A wistful little smile appeared on Malfoy’s face. “…I just realised you won’t agree with me.”

“…that hasn’t stopped you before.”

“It might now…”   
Malfoy shook his head a bit and focused his eyes back on his book.  
“…when I am here, the room is full of people… not _really_ …” he sighed. “Like ghosts but black, shadows, mingling… incessant speech on the edge of comprehension… and I recognise them.”

Harry sat very still, trying not to snap him out of talking.

“…and when I play here…” His breath hitched. “…it’s as if… Father is right behind me…” His mouth smiled but his voice wavered and broke, as did his mask, and he covered his face with his hand.   
He stroked it down, breathed irregularly for a bit, and then looked as if nothing had happened… apart from a little drop in the corner of his eye that glittered when it caught the light.  
“So… not all bad…” He said, strained, nearly voiceless.

The emotion in his voice had gotten to Harry.   
He’d definitely hated Malfoy’s father, but… not enough to want to take him away from him.

This was just sad.

Malfoy seemed to chuckle, nearly soundless, his eyes shining. “…I was _good_.” He nodded. “Quite good.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, not sure where it was safe to tread in this conversation.

“Hm… I had just mastered one of Liszt’s compositions…” He nodded a bit and sighed. “…Father’s favourite composer…”

“…wow.” Harry said, unaware of how to estimate how much of an achievement that was. “Did er… did _he_ play, too?”

Malfoy seemed deep in thought. “Hm…? No… not like I did… My grandfather was more interested in practicality… Intimidation, persuasion, strategic charity of course… you know — _blatant_ manipulation.” He nodded. “…whereas I was raised to be a little more… subtle.”

Harry tensed — he had _not_ expected to hear something like that.   
“Oh?”

“Hm…” Malfoy stroked a hand over his face again, then sat up and placed his feet on the ground in a single movement. “So you’ve come to save me from Zachary, specifically?” He said, leaning forward, elbow on his knee, still holding the book.

“…I guess…” Harry said, still contemplating the whole manipulation-thing. “Why don’t you get on with him, anyway?”

Malfoy sighed as if he were bored and did half an eye roll. “He’s a bit biased.”

Harry scoffed. “What, is he Muggleborn or something?”

Malfoy looked at him properly for the first time in a while. “No, he is pure of blood… and _technically_ Maya royalty…” 

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes grew wide. “…I thought posh Purebloods got along…?”

“That’s ehm…” Malfoy started, hardly able to keep his face in check. “That’s a bit racist of you, Potter,” He said, chuckling.

No malice, no venom.

Harry looked at him with incredulity.

Malfoy shrugged casually and sat more upright, still smiling. “… and it’s not as impressive as you might think… Mayan kings basically ruled over _villages_.”

“…you said that to him, didn’t you?”

Malfoy pressed his lips together and nodded. “Hm. …might have let that slip at some point… But he already hated me by then.”

“…should I ask why?”

“…it’s quite dull. His principles preclude considering murderers people… So the moment Mother and I expressed some fondness of Father and Aunt Bella, we were the scum of the Earth.”   
Malfoy had paled and become more solemn as he spoke. 

_Couldn’t be nice to refer to your dad as a murderer._  
Harry’d already felt pretty shit about his own dad being a bully.

He nodded a bit and decided that a change of topic was in order.   
“So…” He trailed off, and Malfoy sighed and seemed to resign himself to something.   
“Tell me about Johnny.”

Malfoy put his book down beside him and turned his head to the sides, as if cracking his neck.  
“Auror d’Errico is Muggleborn, and he fathered a child with his Muggle wife, Natalie, to whom he has been married for nearly twenty years.”  
He sighed as Harry looked at him incredulously. “Their anniversary is on the fifteenth of December and he is not too keen on being in the United Kingdom by then, so he has been spouting his venom about it to anyone who will listen.”

“Okay…” Harry took a few seconds to take that in. “And er… How come you get along?”

“These weren’t enough personal trivia?”

“Well — no.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Haven’t we spoken enough for a day?”

“…I’ll be here for seven more hours.”

Malfoy looked at him pointedly. “I didn’t ask for you to be.”  
  
Harry nodded, considering that. “…do you want me to… _try_ to… change things back?”

The look Malfoy gave him seemed to go through him. “…you come in pairs, don’t you?”

“Yeah, generally… though… regardless of whether I will stay, Tristan should go,” He looked at Malfoy admonishingly. 

Malfoy didn’t respond.

“I’m pretty disgusted by what you said you did to him.”  
  
Malfoy’s face remained unreadable.

“What were you thinking?” Harry asked, suddenly heated. “He’s one of the nicest people I know — and I know _a lot_ of them.” 

The colour in Malfoy’s face drained to an unhealthy shade of grey. He shook his head weakly.

**!** “You said he took _that_ Chair — or you implied it pretty bloody strongly. And why else would he sleep with you?” Harry felt his face burn but didn’t let that deter him. The entire situation made him feel sick. “Or did you lie?” He seethed. “Did you just lie about the entire thing?”

Malfoy licked his lips. He looked uncomfortable and kind of small.   
“…circumstantial at most,” He said under his breath.

“I don’t think so, you seemed very bloody triumphant earlier — besides; you _just_ told me you were raised to be subtle.”

Malfoy shrunk as if Harry had struck him, then ‘unshrivelled’ and defiantly returned his gaze.

“Ask him,” He said, sitting even more upright and nodding his head to the low fireplace. “Just Floo him, go ahead.”

Harry looked at him, wondering whether this was part of ‘the Manipulation’.

“If I did what you think I did — ”

“What you _heavily implied_ you did,” Harry cut in with a dark look.

Malfoy made a sideways head gesture as if to accept this correction “-…then fling me to the dragons, I won’t mind…”

Harry looked at him with suspicion. 

Malfoy looked at him challengingly. “…but if he did… _things_ …of his own accord… You will never mention it again, no matter who monitors me,” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you accept?”

“…that’s not up to me to decide…”

“Oh come off it Potter, of _course_ it is. The world worships you, get used to it,” Malfoy snapped. “Now Floo your _partner_ and see for yourself.”

Harry looked at him for a few seconds, trying to read him. 

Malfoy’s demeanour was impenetrably malicious, almost glib.

“Okay.” Harry said. “Sure, I’ll call him.”  
He briskly marched over to the fireplace.

The floor gently spun.


End file.
